Treasure Amidst the Trash
by Diamond Snowflake
Summary: AU: Killing was Ulquiorra's life. But when a single encounter with a blue-haired street fighter sparks a series of events no one could foresee, he will come to realize that there are some things that are far more beautiful than death and that being human is not just a curse. Will he be able to protect those precious things when his secrets begin to rear their ugly heads? GrimmUlqui
1. Mining in the Trash

I know I have several other stories that need working on but this plot bunny just would not get out of my head and I have had a recent obsession with GrimmUlqui/UlquiGrimm so I just had to get this out. I hate romance but I adore watching the building up of a powerful relationship~ As such, the sexual development of their love won't be happening for a long time though sexual tension and attraction will be implemented throughout the chapters.

Since ff's guidelines for uploaded stories has clearly expressed wishes for writers to not post stories with explicit content, I will not be writing smut in this story or in any other story from here on out. There will be implications of sexual activity but nothing that all us yaoi fanatics usually adore.

That said, I hope readers will still enjoy the story~ I tried to keep characters in character but Ulqui is a bit hard and Grimmy will probably be a bit coarser than usual.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters. Everything belongs to our dear Tite Kubo~

* * *

_A meeting is the end of disconnection and the beginning of a new relationship._

Cold emerald eyes reflected nothing but professional apathy as they gazed down at the quivering man before him, seeing everything from the faintest drop of sweat dripping down the side of the rather chubby trash's cheek to the bob of his adam's apple in his thick neck despite the poor lighting. They were in an obscure alley, far away from the brightly lit streets of the city and from the prying eyes of other people after he had led his target here at gunpoint, the metal gleaming maliciously from where it peeked out beneath his coat. He had barely spoken a word when he first approached the government official who had been on his way home. He had merely pressed the gun's mouth into a slightly protruding stomach and then murmured, "Make a sound and I will kill you."

He was planning to kill the fool anyway but as per usual, the piece of trash chose to prolong his already doomed life and had fearfully walked in whatever direction Ulquiorra prodded him towards.

To his credit, his target never broke down or tried to flee, though his eyes darted around frantically and his movements were jerky and nervous. His fingers kept twitching near his coat pocket where Ulquiorra could see a thick leather wallet was stuffed in. The tips of paper money could be seen sticking out of it, beckoning like a finger to the man and promising false vows of protection.

The fool probably thought he could buy his way out of his death.

Pathetic.

Ulquiorra did not kill for money. He killed because that was Aizen-sama's wish. The flimsy pieces of paper that other humans worshipped so much were useful only for the bare minimum of necessities and even then the money his lord gave him for his services was more than enough to live comfortably.

The only thing this man could possibly give him that was of any worth was proof that Ulquiorra was more than suitable for his position as Aizen-sama's cuarta, the fourth best executioner for his lord. In other words, this man had to forfeit his life to him in a manner that was both silent and beautiful. He had to receive an execution that was worthy of praise.

Aizen-sama believed only in the most eloquent and neatest of deaths after all.

"-and money! I'll give you however much you want! More than whatever Aizen-san paid you! A-and the police! I won't say a word to the goddamn police so-"

Disinterested emerald orbs focused back on his target who was now babbling nonsense since they were no longer visible to any carefree passerby. Hopeful beady eyes looked at him, surrounded by saggy sacs of sickly pale and sweaty skin and Ulquiorra was hard pressed not to pull back in disgust. This useless blob of flesh thrown over a spineless skeleton was deemed a threat by Aizen-sama?

He mentally berated himself for his foolishness. Of course not. Aizen-sama feared no one, he was the one who was feared. No this man was being punished, punished for attempting to leave Aizen-sama's service without his lord's permission and running to the government of all people to protect him. He had said nothing of the few minor secrets he knew of his lord but that only protected him from a long and painful torture. He needed to be taught a lesson for abandoning the position and power Aizen-sama had graciously given him that would last him a lifetime. And what better lesson than a personal meeting with death?

Black cloak fluttering in the wind, Ulquiorra easily drew his gun completely out and cocked it at the now hysteric fool.

"W-wait! Please spare me! I-I have two daughters at home w-waiting for me! And my wi-"

A voice colder than death itself cut through his blubbering words and stated quietly, "Silence your useless prattle. Your life means nothing to me you insignificant trash." Did this fool truly believe he cared about his family? If Aizen-sama had his way, the aforementioned people would soon be joining him in the afterlife anyway so he failed to see why this trash insisted on mentioning them. They were no ticket to a longer life. They were simply unfortunate bugs that had swarmed around this trash until he finally burst into flames and ceased to exist and he said as such, cold tone never changing and apathetic expression never yielding any emotion beyond heartless contempt.

Mouth hanging open, the man spluttered as though Ulquiorra had just said something fantastic and unbelievable before jabbing a finger at him and cursing loudly, "You're calling me the trash? At least I'm no dog of that bastard Aizen! I had the courage to leave him unlike you, you sniveling coward! You're just a monster! A fucking puppet! And when you're the one with loved ones and you're the one about to be killed, I'll be laughing at you along with the rest of the sorry bastards that were killed by you! Burn away in hell you damned-!"

A muffle bang reverberated through the air, silencing the pathetic insults and releasing a small burst of blood onto his hand that was holding the gun pressed up against the man's balding forehead. Glancing at his bloodied gloved hand in mild disapproval since he now had to clean another pair of worn leather gloves, he let the body fall to the ground without a second glance.

He knew what he would see if he turned. A lump of steadily cooling flesh and bones slumped in some ungraceful sprawl but with a single trickle of bright red gracefully sliding down from his head, onto his shirt, over his expensive slacks, and then finally oozing onto the paved ground where it would pool there like liquid fire.

The shot had been clean, the blood minimal save for the slight miscalculation on his part that had caused the small spurt and also the resulting blood flow from the wound, and there was no evidence left behind, nothing that could trace the murder back to him or to his lord.

Silent, clean, and beautiful.

Just the way Aizen-sama liked.

All except for his messy glove.

He refused to acknowledge the fact that his miscalculation had been due to an involuntary twitch of his hand at the man's accusations. It was a simple matter of telling himself that it was an accident, something even Starrk, the top executioner, was prone to do. Emotions had nothing to do with it, nothing at all.

_"You're just a monster!"_

Monster, what a laughable term. He was no monster. Monsters were creatures born from the imagination and fear of the weak and powerless. Ulquiorra was an executioner, a professional who had worked hard to acquire the skills he had now just like any other human with a respectable job minus the morals and emotions that could cloud his judgment. He did not cower behind a facade of false justice that others used to gain favoritism and approval. He was not so weak hearted. He dealt with matters in a manner that he deemed suitable and it was merely convenient that more often than not, his interests matched his lord's. There was no monstrosity involved save for the simple fact that he was human.

If anyone were to be called monsters, it would be the humans who sucked the life out of everything else for their own selfish gains.

And loved ones? As if he needed such useless chains to tie him down. Things like family, friends, lovers... all of them were meaningless. And only the weak tossed the terms around in order to make themselves feel stronger. The only one Ulquiorra needed was his lord, his almighty king whom he owed his life to. Anyone else was insignificant.

A small disposable cellphone in his pocket beeped twice, the sharp sound pulling him out of his thoughts and signaling that he had received a message. Taking it out and flicking it open, the bright screen nearly blinding in the darkness of the night, he stared emotionlessly at the digital letters typed out neatly in a simple short paragraph sent either by that detestable fox Gin-sama or the more agreeable Tousen-sama. Judging by how professionally and succinctly it was worded, he assumed it was the latter.

"Ulquiorra Schiffer has passed the verification test and shall retain his position as Cuarta until the next examination is determined." It carried on to say that he was to be on standby until the others completed their verification tests or until further notice and then ended with a list of the current results of the test.

As per usual, the fastest and sharpest shooter known to man, Starrk, remained at the top though how he managed to remain awake long enough to perform his task was beyond anyone's guess considering his narcoleptic behavior. Following him was the aging Barragan, his physical appearance deteriorating but his mind and accuracy still sharper than a honed blade. Then it was Harribel, the only high-ranking female and a justly deserved role due to her cool demeanor in any given situation and the deadly dagger skills she had developed herself. After her was himself, and it was safe to assume that Nnoitra would follow up after him as usual. Brash and violent, there was no denying the insect-like man had the physical prowess to back his aggressive attitude even if Ulquiorra thought he was detestable and unfit to be among the top five.

He narrowed his eyes in mild disdain. These results of the test should have been obvious from the start. No one in the positions quinta and above had changed in the past five years though the new sexta, Luppi or something equally annoying as that, had managed to hold onto his spot for quite some time now, at least a year or two so perhaps he would become another regular. Point of the matter was, these tests were simply becoming a waste of time but since Aizen-sama deemed them necessary, he would comply. Even if the only reason his lord seemed to deem them necessary was because of that sly fox who whispered suggestions to him and then gleefully watched as they were carried out.

Sometimes, he wondered if half the examinations of their skills were simply amusing events for Gin-sama to watch for his own enjoyment so that he wouldn't incessantly bother Aizen-sama whenever he was bored.

Beginning to walk with his signature calm composure away from his dead victim, Ulquiorra wrapped his coat around his body tightly and pressed on through the chilly autumn night, footsteps silent but quick. He wasn't cold per say but his pale skin felt chilled to the touch and the frequent cool breezes did nothing to lessen the frigid temperature of his skin and he sped up just a bit as he thought about what to do for the next few days.

He didn't really like having free time since it left him with nothing productive to do but an order was an order so he decided to stick to his usual way of spending time off- either holed up in his apartment reading a book or visiting one of the few people he deemed sane and pleasant enough to be enjoyable company.

The list was depressingly short but that was to be expected when your only colleagues were killers such as yourself and were thus by default, not the best companions for socializing with. Not that he was much of a socializer himself. In fact, he preferred solitude but spending copious amounts of time with only his habitual actions to entertain himself, it got quite dull. Hence his second and final resort was spending time with the other executioners and hoping their antics would be at least mildly more interesting than his own. A weak hope and one that more often than not failed to actually hold true but deceiving himself was the second best thing he was good at.

So caught up in his thoughts, Ulquiorra's usually perceptive and sharp ears failed to pick up on the stealthy quiet steps of another person coming from around the corner he was about to turn and with his own silent walking style, sensing him before seeing him was near impossible. As such, both continued to walk at their quick pace even as they rounded the corner. The result was, of course, a solid crash of limbs as well as curses from the unruly fool who had walked into him.

"Fuckin' hell that hurt..."

Still slightly ruffled by his target's impudent and wholly unfounded accusations in addition to the frustration he felt at having time off, Ulquiorra fixed a derogatory glare onto the broad chest of the ruffian who had smacked into him and hissed softly, "Watch where you're going trash." He thought he had said that a tad too lowly for the buffoon to hear but to his mild surprise, the rough voice that had sworn earlier snarled back equally venemously, "You watch where your goin' you fuckin' bastard. What the hell're you made of, brick?"

Realizing that even with his uncanny balance and physical strength, he hadn't knocked over the one who he had walked into, Ulquiorra grudgingly let his gaze drift up to see what sort of muscle-headed fool had actually managed to walk into him without falling over.

His breath almost hitched. Almost.

Stormy azure pools glimmering like the wild and untamable ocean glowered down at him from a handsome, pointed face. Sharp white canines, far sharper than what was considered normal, glinted in the moonlight as lips pulled back in a feral sneer. Shocking blue hair was matted with blood and loose strands were sticking to his face but the overall roughed up appearance only seemed to enhance his good looks. A true greek Adonis if he was to be compared to anything despite his less than perfect state of being. A dark bruise stood out on his smooth cheek and many others littered the rest of his chiseled body, visible due to the ragged state of his shirts and pants.

He looked like a disheveled, bloody mess.

And Ulquiorra wondered why he didn't find the man's deplorable state utterly filthy or disgusting.

* * *

Grimmjow was in quite the bad mood though to be fair, he had spent the greater part of the day tackling another bull of a man in another desperate grab for money in the stupidly long but relatively lucrative fighting competition that was highly viewed upon by the other residents of the slums. His money supply was running short again and if he wanted enough to provide for himself and for his little sister, he needed to fight. Not that he didn't enjoy fighting but just that very same morning, he had been forced to deal with some nosy new cops fresh from their dorky academy hoping to catch some hooligans from the slums to show off their so-called 'talent.'

Yeah, they learned pretty damn fast not to piss off one of the top fighters of the area.

Most cops that had a brain fit into those inflated heads on their shoulders knew that it was next to impossible to arrest anyone from the slums in case they had ties to yakuza. The rest were like the newbies- ignorant morons that acted as if the badge decorating their fancy little uniforms was a crown or some other shitty relic like that.

Hissing in mild pain when he felt his abdominals clench in the area where he was sure he had, at the very least, fractured a rib, Grimmjow moodily wondered why he had declined his friend's offer to patch him up or at least give him a painkiller. Probably his own damn inflated pride not that he would ever admit that out loud. Admitting his personal flaws was never something he was very good at and not a personality problem he planned to fix anytime soon.

If someone had issues with his ego, then they could go find some other socially retarded douche to bother.

And now, to add the cherry to his already fucking peachy day, he had to do one of those cliche run-into-random-stranger moments though unlike those crappy dramas, neither of them fell over and there was none of that 'their eyes met and hearts and flowers appeared between them' shit either. Hell, it felt like he'd walked into a brick wall and considering his muscle mass, that was pretty damn impressive.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed as he looked down at the rock of a human that he had crashed into. Bastard had a lot of nerve running into him, coincidentally jabbing a throbbing area near his ribcage without a single apology. Asshole. Not that the guy knew about his injuries but that didn't mean the little shit couldn't apologize for running into him. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the pale man more closely.

Fucking asshole that was rather easy on the eyes he realized, much to his chagrin.

Slightly shaggy ebony hair that barely brushed the bottom of a pointed chin framed a rather delicate looking face though the guy's solid body told him he was no pushover. Breathtaking emerald eyes stared up at him, not an ounce of intimidation in them despite their noticeable height difference, and lips were pressed firmly in a displeased frown. Bastard had prissy right down to the dot on the i.

His entire black ensemble over his pale skin that looked far more expensive than anything people around here owned raised a few questions but Grimmjow knew better than to ask them. In the slums, everyone was suspicious and no one was completely innocent of dirty deeds. That was an unspoken truth and one that everyone pretty much just accepted himself included.

Noticing the guy had yet to respond to him, he snorted and muttered, "Fine, whatever. Be a mute for all I fuckin' care. Just get outta my way before I pound your pansy ass into the ground." He was sore, hungry, tired, and he had shit to do before he could finally drop dead on his bed and snore the night away. Some fishy asshole was so not going to make his night any longer than it already was.

Some fishy asshole whose footsteps had somehow escaped his almost inhuman hearing.

Now that he thought about it, how had he not heard someone walking at a quick pace from such a short distance? Fishy asshole was getting more and more suspicious by the minute. Not that he really cared and not that it was any of his business. Guy could be the next Jack the Fucking Ripper for all he cared so long as the little bastard didn't mess with him.

Damn he really wanted some food. And painkillers. And a shower. And a really, really long sleep.

The man seemed to snap out of... whatever it was he was in and was now looking at him again with that creepy unreadable look. When he opened his mouth, Grimmjow figured he was going to say something weird but all that came out was, "Trash. As if the likes of you could even hope to land a finger on me before I slit your throat." And then he was moving away, silent like a fucking ninja, and Grimmjow was left staring incredulously where the little asshole had been. Whirling around and pinning furious blue onto that black-covered back, he barely managed to hold in his nasty retort when he remembered he had things to do that couldn't be put off any longer just because another irritating fucktard decided to make his already hellish day even worse.

Scowling heavily and several times more pissed off than he was before, Grimmjow turned back to the direction he was heading in earlier and stalked off, repeatedly telling himself to never speak to black-haired guys again since they all seemed to be stuck up bitches. Never mind that he was in Japan where black hair was the norm and cotton candy blue wasn't.

He slammed a fist into his own head and then cursed loudly when haunting emerald orbs refused to leave his mind.

* * *

Ulquiorra was, for lack of a better word, bored. It had been three days since his kill and he still had yet to receive his next mission. The fools of the lower ranks must be squabbling to obtain higher ranks again, dragging out the tests for far longer than they really needed to be. He wasn't concerned about the one weaker person he grudgingly respected, Szayel. The scientist was satisfied in his low rank since he was quite aware that he was held in high esteem by Aizen-sama regardless of his status. Such was the benefits of being both a scientist and an underground doctor who tended the wounds of pretty much everyone.

But this also meant the pink-haired man was frequently occupied and could not be disturbed.

So one of the few relatively -and questionably- sane people he could stand being around was not available. He could have tea with Tousen-sama and, if he was extremely lucky, Aizen-sama but the idea of drinking yet another cup of tea when he had already downed ten cups of it in the past three days was highly unappealing. He had reread several of the books in his room and had no desire to open another glossy cover to read more words unless it was info about his next target.

Had he been a lesser man, he would have hunted down one of the other executioners and sparred with them by this point. But he was above such impulsive acts of violent tendencies and he refused to lower himself to the same level as the savage quinta. But there was no denying he didn't want to stay cooped up in his room for any longer.

As such, Ulquiorra decided to do the one thing that made sense to do in his restless state: he took a walk.

Meandering out of the polished steel building of his apartment after checking the security system and ensuring his room was completely locked up, Ulquiorra began wandering down the broad, littered street, his gun hidden safely beneath the thick layers of his black coat and his phone stuffed into the pocket of his black jeans. He was hardly one for casual wear but if he was going to strut around in a city in all black, he figured he should at least go for that look teenagers apparently called goth or emo. Neither term meant much to him but it seemed to do the trick since all he received was a few strange looks before people continued on their own way.

Trash. Always surprised when there was someone who wasn't interested in those disgustingly bright colors many of them seemed to like so much. He failed to see the appeal of walking around dressed in the colors of a tulip.

A woman hustled by, dressed in a long fur coat over expensive designer clothes and exuding some toxic scent that, had she been in an elevator, would have killed her and any other people with her. Beside her was a haughty and arrogant looking man, squarish face trim and proper but quite ugly, just like his rather ridiculously fancy and gaudy suit and he was holding a thin white stick that was sending a thin trail of putrid black smoke into the air. He also possessed an overbearing scent of some chemical product that had probably cost him a pretty penny.

Disgusting.

These fake people who tried to hide their humanity beneath layers of manufactured goods was a despicable sight indeed.

Finding the crowded city far too unpleasant with the stench of human beauty products and carcinogenic items polluting the precious breathable air, Ulquiorra found himself moving away towards quieter streets that people seemed to be avoiding. He had wondered why the attention seeking fools wanted to so avidly avoid any area where they could flaunt their money but as he continued further on, he began to see why.

Huddled figures were leaning against walls of run down buildings, their tattered rags barely holding together against even the slightest of wind and near-empty cups with the occasional coin resting in them beside their dirty feet. Some had shoes, others didn't and the more he walked, the fewer those with shoes became. These wretches did not hold their heads up in pride, did not strut around like peacocks to show off their looks or wealth. No, these people were like abandoned dogs, unwanted by others and living off the kindness of a hopefully generous passerby.

Somewhere in his mind, he remembered that damn fox's words giggled into his ear, as if they had been sharing an amusing secret between them, "You should visit the slums Ulqui-tan~ You can find all the human trash ya want there and no one would bat an eye if ya killed 'em 'cause no one would really care. A _true_ 'clean-up' if ya asked me~"

So this must be those 'slums' that fox had been babbling about. His lip curled in distaste. He could see what the silver-haired right-hand man of Aizen-sama had meant; the people here were indeed so pathetically wretched that they truly were the ultimate trash of the trash known as humanity.

Why did such useless people continue to live if they had no purpose to strive for?

He did not understand this powerful attachment his fellow humans had to life. He himself preferred the beauty of death, of the eternal rest that was bequeathed to these wretched souls who didn't really deserve such a kind end but received it anyway whilst he continued to plod through his own life. Why did these fools not simply let go and enjoy the peace their miserable circumstances were granting them? Did they truly believe that if they held on long enough, a miracle would happen that would grant them a blessed opportunity for a better life?

He simply could not fathom their hopeless desire to live.

Scoffing, he ignored pleading moans for money, food, and water and continued on his way. Past the people who still trusted their plastic cups and pitiful excuses of hats, past buildings that still looked rather stable if not quite dirty, past the knocked over trash cans and messes of bags, bottles, cans, and rags. If he was going to remove some filth and finish what they lacked the courage to do on their own, then he'd rather start from the bottom of the ladder and go up which meant going right to the heart of the slums where he presumed the absolute rejects of humankind dwelled. If he was fortunate, he may find the one or two yakuza member to kill off since they were the arrogant fools who tended to push their luck by pretending to be greater than they actually were when making secret deals with his lord.

Funny enough, there weren't many of the hot-headed delinquents he expected to be swaggering around. Adolescents who had tread down the wrong path ended up in places like these the most where they were recruited by yakuza or other gangs so where were those pig-headed fools who insisted that they were invincible? It was all actually quite quiet save for the occasional moan from a homeless wretch and though it all seemed rather strange, his senses did not detect any hostile intentions aimed at him nor did he sense himself being watched.

He did however, pick up on the faint sound of voices in the distance. It was still in the general direction he was heading in so he continued to languidly walk onwards until he could hear the voices more clearly and becoming something akin to cheers and roars, excitement and frustration evident in their tones as if they were watching one of those sports games humans tended to be so fond of.

When he rounded a corner, he found his assumption wasn't that far off.

In what would have been a rather spacious plaza had it looked cleaner and for lack of a word, prettier, a huge number of rough, raucous people were gathered, forming a ring of sorts around two individuals fighting savagely in the middle. Men were hooting loudly and spurring on the two fighters, broken wine and beer bottles in hand as they took swigs from them or else getting even higher than their current riled states on various drugs through cracked needles or roughly made pipes. Women who were scantily clad were saucily smiling at the ravenous males and draping themselves over them, overly dolled up faces putting on coquettish pouts whenever they were pushed aside in favor of booze, drugs, or watching the fight though several of the trashy women were squealing enthusiastically at one of the fighters.

A fighter whom Ulquiorra immediately recognized.

There was no mistaking that wild blue hair dancing in the wind nor the promise of animalistic carnage in that smirk of razor sharp teeth and those bright blue eyes. The voices of the crowd were approaching a crescendo as he had just received a harsh kick to his stomach that would have downed even a fraction member.

But the man hardly looked fazed.

Lathered in sweat and blood and bruises, he let out a rippling roar of insanely delighted laughter as he threw the huge bear of a man that he was fighting to the ground and then sharply twisted his opponent's arm, grin widening when a sickening crack snapped through the air before slamming his elbow right into an exposed stomach, the crunch of shattered ribs joining the snapping bone of his arm.

The defeated man howled in pain, clutching his arm that was twisted in a grotesquely odd angle and wrapping his uninjured arm around his caved in rib cage, but he garnered no pity from the roaring crowd. Yells demanding him to get up were drowned out by the cheers for the blue-haired man as he stood up and raised a bloody and torn fist into the air, powerful muscles flexing and chest heaving as exhilaration and adrenaline pumped through his veins.

It was disgusting seeing how filthy both fighters were after the fight.

It was unacceptable that both walked out of it alive. Heavily injured but alive nonetheless.

But the gleam of victory reflected in eyes that were now less like a storming sea and more like the brilliant sky was one of the most inexplicably beautiful things Ulquiorra had ever seen.

This was a man from the lowest of the low of humankind. But there was no defeat in his being, no shame for his less than savory lifestyle. Instead, there was a vitality of an intensity like no other, a powerful desire to live that showed in the way that he fought and in the way he carried himself. He was like a predator, lurking among the weak, stalking around and waiting for a chance to sink his teeth into bigger prey.

He was a very, very dangerous man.

And Ulquiorra was intrigued.


	2. Of Observations and Meetings

Ulquiorra was most certainly not a stalker even if this was the fourth time of his so far painfully week-long break that he spent watching a certain blue-haired man. What he was doing was perfectly understandable and clear-cut logical. He was gathering information about a potentially dangerous person who he would probably never encounter in his line of work but should still take precautions against because ignoring threats no matter how small or seemingly innocuous was often the cause of downfall.

Ulquiorra knew this from experience. He had been nothing more than a locked up sickly pale child because his own parents were terrified of his looks before he had gotten fed up with their utter foolishness, leading to him killing them in their sleep after which he had wandered the streets on his own until his lord had taken him under his wing. There was more to that unpleasant story than he cared to remember but it boiled down to the same life lesson he had been witness to for ten years. Since the murder of his parents, he had sworn never to underestimate even the most unassuming fool. He had become, after all, a very careful person and not one to overlook a single minuscule detail.

That said, this was all his current actions amounted to- collecting information for purely professional reasons. Nothing more, nothing less.

Such was the way Ulquiorra's mind worked as he stood in the shadows of a dilapidated building and his dubbed observation spot, watching another street fight again. The one he wanted to see wasn't actually fighting in this one but he was among the crowd, ignoring sleazy prostitutes who were pawing at his bare muscled chest that was covered only by some clean white bandages despite the chilly breeze. He wore black cotton pants that were loose and tattered but they did nothing to detract from the man as usual. They dipped just low enough to show a glimpse of his pelvis and the barest hints of surprisingly natural blue hair and the women were eagerly trying to get him to show more.

His appearance was that of an exotic specimen of man, beautiful and erotic though he wore no flashy accessories or clothes spun from silk and gold. Not even the rags of the impoverished could steal that aura of divine perfection he exuded and Ulquiorra wondered why someone with a sinful beauty like the blunette's was confined to the outcasts of society. He was far more appealing to look at than the trashy, pitiful excuses of models that decorated magazines and this was coming from his detached speculations.

Simply imagining the hundreds of thousands of hormonal teenagers who would screech in those terribly loud and obnoxious voices of theirs at the mere sight of this man was both irritating and so very plausible. The things those fools did upon seeing a piece of eye candy was abominable.

Pale hands straying to his concealed gun, a habit he tended to unconsciously do whenever he was agitated or annoyed, Ulquiorra's emerald gaze was once again captured by the blue-haired man as he drank from a water bottle that a lithe orange-haired male had given him, the brief but casually familiar brushing of their fingers not going unnoticed under his scrutinizing.

So this was an -attractive- orange-haired male who seemed to share a close perhaps even intimate relationship with the blunette he noted with mild distaste, his slim fingers curling ever so slightly around his weapon's handle. And then he almost immediately released the gun and crossed his arms in front of him, pretending that thought never occurred because it was an irrational thought that didn't really matter to him in any way. Who the blue-haired man chose to associate with was none of his concern and he firmly assured himself of this fact several times before looking back over to the duo again.

The sight that greeted his eyes was... disconcerting to say the least. As if the cool weather did not affect him at all, the street fighter had now dumped some of the water over himself, drops of crystal clear liquid sliding down his slick tan skin tantalizingly slowly. The chilled water dripped down from his now damp hair over the contours of his high cheekbones, continuing their path along the length of his strong neck and then over his chiseled pectorals and abs, getting absorbed by the bandages and turning them a light grey color as they dampened.

A pink tongue darted out of his mouth to catch some of the drops, a small piercing glinting briefly when it was exposed to sunlight before it disappeared again, much to the disappointment of many. Fingers wrapped in more white bandages -most likely to protect them in his upcoming fight- raked through unruly and wet blue locks as the man gave his nearly drooling audience a shit-eating smirk that clearly stated, "I'm hot enough to scorch your mom's watered daisy and I fucking know it."

Ulquiorra had seen men step out of showers with their bodies still glistening from the steam and hot spray and had never batted an eyelash much less seen anyone else look interested. This infuriating piece of trash had only gotten his torso wet and yet he had managed to produce a captivating appearance that had the rest of the trash fawning over him in awe and envy.

What it was they were so captivated by, Ulquiorra did not quite understand. Yes, good physical appearances were a rarity and were worthy of being appreciated but to such an extent? It was no wonder those contracts of eternal love called marriages were so easily torn apart. The superficial rarely survived against the harsh reality.

He refused to admit that he had also been one of the people who had been momentarily blinded by the man's handsome looks. That was treading dangerous ground he had no care to explore.

Roaring cheers caught his attention and he surveyed the riled crowd again.

It was apparently the blunette's turn to fight and he was curious about how the man would do considering he must surely still be nursing wounds from his other fights. He had taken only one day off to heal so far and this was his second consecutive day of fighting, his body's condition evident by the number of wounds scattered over them though they were hidden well beneath the bandages.

The young man with him was murmuring something into his ear, earning him several envious and also hungry looks from the women and a couple men, before he and the blunette bumped their fists together and separated. Ulquiorra kept his gaze steadily fixed on the larger man as he watched him stroll leisurely into the center of the makeshift ring, blue eyes blazing with a chaotic desire for violence that instantly drew his attention.

Regardless of his current health state, Ulquiorra had a feeling the blunette was the one who was going to walk away from the fight victorious.

And Ulquiorra was rarely ever wrong.

* * *

Goddamn, if he didn't consider Ichigo his best friend and the closest thing he had to a brother, Grimmjow would have seriously been sporting a hard on when that enticing low baritone had whispered huskily in his ear to watch his step and avoid using his left arm to much. The stupid tease knew he was hot as hell and that Grimmjow was bisexual and Ichigo just had to go and make fun of him with the flirtatious gestures his stupid ass of a twin taught him.

The twin devils -that were unfortunately seriously fucking sexy- were going to be the figurative death of him some day.

Rolling the muscles in his shoulders as he waited for his next sissy opponent to step up, Grimmjow narrowed his eyes slightly as he sensed the hair-raising feeling of someone watching him again. His immediate and first suspicion was the twins since making him uncomfortable was their favorite pastime but it wasn't them- Shiro was somewhere, probably terrorizing a poor bastard into giving him some extra cash or a smoke and while Ichigo _was_ watching him, he hadn't moved from his original spot and the stare was coming from a different direction so he wasn't the culprit either.

Grimmjow loved attention but he didn't like not knowing where it was coming from. Fuck, if it was another crazy bitch who was dead set on him being the father of some nameless child again, he was going to kick her ass morals be damned. That ordeal with Cirucci had been a nightmare and he had no desire to go through it again.

But over the past few days, whoever it was hadn't approached him or anyone he knew and they hadn't done anything that threatened them so he was relatively fine with just letting it go. So long as no one messed with him, he could care less about what they did. And when his opponent finally stepped forward, all thoughts of being watched flew out of his head as predatory anticipation spread through his veins like wildfire, the intense desire to break bone, tear muscle and flesh, and spill blood singing throughout his body like the call of a seductive siren.

And who was he to deny such a lovely lady's call. He was going to give her a fight worthy of the most orgasmic fucking known in goddamn history.

Cracking his knuckles ominously, he mentally snorted when he saw the nervous twitch and drops of frightened perspiration of the other man. All his opponents were weaklings these days. With the very rare exception, none of them had a fight instinct that could hold up to his and it was just getting really stupid borderline dull. He really wanted to fight one of his friends but Shiro apparently wouldn't fight someone unless he felt like it or if they hurt his brother and Ichigo didn't like doing anything that could potentially damage his hands since he needed them to do his work.

Fuck, he was so utterly whipped by the twins it wasn't even funny. Any other person and he would have just told them to suck it up and then proceeded to bash their heads in without remorse. He needed to find a new person to fight with or else he was going to accidentally kill someone in his frustration. Hell, he was just about ready for a pummeling match with Zaraki if his opponents didn't start growing an extra pair of actual balls and that was seriously saying something since _no one_, not even Shiro, really liked to go against the insane man who was infamous in even towns miles away for being a violent fighter who supposedly had yet to lose a single match in his twenty-five years of living.

Point of the matter was, he really needed a new sparring partner. Grimmjow's violent frustrations were getting worse than his sexual frustrations and that was impressive considering it had been several weeks since his last outing with a fuck buddy and his libido craved sex like an addict did for drugs. Right now, he felt like he was being denied alcohol after a century of binge drinking which made him one very unhappy, pissed off camper.

Sneering at his nervous oaf of an opponent, he figured he'd vent a little more this round than the others.

Feeling the soreness in his muscles from not allowing them to rest properly, he remembered Ichigo's warning and then scoffed as he slid into a guarded but offensive stance.

He wouldn't need both of his arms to win this anyway. He could be blindfolded with his good arm tied behind his back and still win. He could smell that sweet scent of fear in the air much like a predator stalking its prey and if his opponent's breathing got any heavier, he would think the idiot as going into cardiac arrest.

Weak. So weak it was almost laughable.

But a fight was a fight so he would do everything possible to enjoy it to the max.

With a howl of euphoric laughter that would make Shiro proud, he lunged forward, all thoughts of anything completely lost in his thirst for blood as his fists sought to make contact with soft flesh and sturdy bone.

* * *

It was over in a few fifteen pitiful minutes. Far too brief for Ulquiorra's tastes and clearly unsatisfactory for the blue-haired man as well if his irritated and restless glare was anything to go by as he watched his opponent's body crumple to the ground after several solid hits. He considered recruiting the man for Aizen-sama but against his better judgment, he decided not to. The verification tests would soon be over by this point- he didn't want to have to waste away for any longer waiting for a new potential person to fight his way to obtain one of the positions.

As the blunette stepped out of the ring and brushed off loving caresses and adoring gazes, Ulquiorra knew he no longer had any reason to linger since the street fighter tended to head off as soon as he finished a fight, according to past observations. Beginning to turn to step away and make his way back to his apartment, loud noises from the crowd caught his attention and he glanced back over to where the blue-haired man was.

The ginger head was with him again but now there was also an albino copy of him latched onto the blunette's arm. A feeling not quite like ire nor anger but something in-between shot through him and he decided right then and there that he did not like the feeling and should immediately remove it from his system. Oddly enough however, it persisted and only seemed to get a little worse when the two identical people leaned forward and pressed their lips onto the side of the blunette's face.

The roars and screeches of disgust, amusement, envy, and approval scattered throughout the crowd of trash was drowned out by the loud thudding of his own heart as he stared at the scene with the peculiar emotion bubbling like lava in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill over into his carefully expressionless eyes and his tightly pressed mouth.

Ulquiorra never noticed that his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, he merely turned with a sharp whip of his cloak and made a silent but swift exit from the slums. He vaguely registered not-quite-storming through the streets, the image of the trio still persisting in the back of his mind, as he returned to the cold comfort of his apartment room and stopped to stand in the middle of the carpeted floor. A sharp stinging pain from his palms caused him to finally glance down at them only to be confused when he saw drops of crimson liquid sliding down in small trickles from small crescent-shaped cuts.

He didn't understand why they were bleeding until he distantly remembered digging his nails into fragile skin as he moved away from the filthy scene.

It was easy to dismiss his actions as him merely wishing to protect his eyes from watching intimate touches between garbage. He had always stiffened in distaste whenever he passed by two people on the street pressed against each other, mouths connected and exchanging saliva or arms wrapped around each other as if they were trying to strangle their partners. But he knew that wasn't quite the case.

What had truly upset him in a manner that he didn't understand was the strange shift from feral danger to a more gentle roughness in the blunette's demeanor when he was accosted by the identical-faced men. Perhaps it irritated him that someone with such lethal potential was already tamed by another? But he discarded that thought as soon as it came. He had seen men and the occasional women who were just as brutal and barbaric as the street fighter and he had barely cast a glance at them before either killing them or simply passing by them.

So why he was so bothered by the liaisons between a man he still didn't even know the name of and his acquaintances?

Ulquiorra simply didn't understand and he had a feeling his troubled thoughts were far from being over.

He sometimes hated it when he was always right.

* * *

"Did ya 'ear tha' bastard who thought we were gonna go off an' 'ave us a fun li'l threesome? Ha! That was rich!" Ichigo elbowed Shiro as his albino twin continued cackling madly while he muttered with a flushed face, "That was so not funny Shiro. I don't even know how that idiot came up with that."

Grimmjow snorted, rolling his shoulders and finding satisfaction in the resulting cracking sounds as he replied, gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, "Gee I dunno Ichi, maybe it's the fact you two keep playin' your flirtin' games with me in front of 'em every day?" A teasing mock pout formed on the shorter man's face and Ichigo stuck his tongue out petulantly while Shiro latched onto his side like a big white leech and whined, "Don' be so cold Grimmie! Ya know ya love the love we give ya~"

Oh he loved it alright but he didn't want to go running around saving asses if another creepy fan of theirs decided he or she wanted in on the fun. Shiro could take care of himself just fine but Ichigo tended to fall for any woe-is-me stories despite his rather lethal fighting skills and then got his sweet ass in some sticky situation that sent his twin into a homicidal rage. Then he had to step in and make sure the idiot didn't kill someone since he was messy when he was pissed and so while he got his ass handed to him by the off-his-rocker albino, Ichigo would try to calm him down. That usually ended with a beat up him, a somewhat calmer but still pissy Shiro, and either an aggravated or completely pissed off Ichigo.

A highly unappealing situation and one he liked to avoid at all costs.

He liked fighting Shiro. He just didn't like fighting a furious, 'Imma gonna snap yer neck like a twig' Shiro. Because more often than not, he was the one nursing a sore body and a bruised ego. Where the albino stored all his muscle, he had no clue since the guy had the same lean build as Ichigo and yet could still throw a man twice his weight through a window like it was a fucking walk in the park.

Huffing in mild exasperation, he continued on with the walk to his house, the twins bantering like he was their tennis net and their insults were the balls. One jab flew over him, another did the same. But then there was the occasional insult that either tapped him or was a direct hit. Fuck he hated being the net.

Growling lowly under his breath after the third time one of them, he didn't care which, got a foul for insulting him, he mentally pictured gagging the two of them and throwing them into a locked closet with his sister on sugar high. Maybe they would just kill each other there and that would solve his problems. Oh, but then there was the goddamn risk that they would both lose whatever sanity they had left and then he'd be stuck associated with three nuttier than fucking nutballs.

When the hell did he sign a contract to be a nanny? 'Cause right now, he wanted that contract so that he could rip it to shreds and then curse the unlucky contractor, be it God Al-fucking-mighty or the damned, for making him unfortunately fond of three brats. He conveniently forgot that he was just as bad as all of them and that it was more common for Ichigo to play the nanny while the rest of them drove others to insanity.

Ah, it was great having an ego the size of the sun that burned away the unnecessary thoughts.

Feet stepping on unkempt lawn grass that would need a mowing soon provided they could steal a mower from someone again, their poor parody of the three musketeers walked up a couple deteriorating steps before Grimmjow heaved a massive bag of bottles, wood, cans, and whatever non-degradable piece of trash they had been able to find from in front of his door.

Keys and pretty little tricks like that did shit in a place full of professional thieves and so he had been forced to be a bit more creative with securing his house so that his monster of a little sister couldn't terrorize some poor sucker that tried to break into it. The things he did to protect the unsuspecting asshole from being permanently traumatized by the terrors he knew.

He was so nice he should get a freaking cookie for his blessed heart.

Funny enough, the last time he had vocalized this sentiment, the twins had stared at him like he'd grown a second head before breaking down into fits of laughter. He had said they were jealous of his compassionate and caring soul. They had said he needed to visit his uncle Satan soon because he was obviously getting a bit too touched in the head and needed a good reminder from uncle dearest about how to be a devil.

The sounds of ecstatic squeals broke his reminiscing and he smirked when a little green blur flew out of the barely opened door and slammed into Ichigo with the force of a government-issued torpedo. Why Nel liked the carrot-top so much was anyone's guess but it always made him and Shiro snicker at his expense.

Letting Ichigo handle his hyper sister for a moment, Grimmjow swept a critical eye over the room. Knocked over table, ripped curtain, toilet paper trailing all over the single floored house from the dingy bathroom, couple broken dishes here and there, and another spill stain on the drab carpet they had had the luck of nabbing from a trash can once... All was as well as could be in the Jaegerjacquez household.

He should have known better than to let that beast Zaraki and his even more demonic daughter Yachiru be the ones to watch his sister but the giant man was the only one around who actually knew how to handle sugary brats with smiles like angels and personalities worse than the most spiteful of shitty demons... even if he was far from being a positive influence on them.

"Yer outta sugar again Grimmy."

Shiro's careless drawl drew a groan from him as Grimmjow shook his head in exasperation and called out, "Zaraki? The fuc- er fudge did you go man?" He stalked through the tiny messy living room to the equally tiny kitchen to try to find the giant as an excuse to avoid Ichigo's glare on his back that was practically screaming, "Swear in front of Nel and I will cut off your family jewels and shove them where the sun doesn't shine before you can say shit."

Christ, Ichi could be such a woman sometimes.

Peeking into the kitchen, he had Shiro's shriek of laughter and Kenpachi's grunt of amusement as his only warnings before something pink and way too energetic to be safe barreled into his legs, sweeping them out from beneath him and sending him crashing to the ground in a sprawled mess that would have put the few defeats he had faced in the past to absolute shame.

"Ahahaha yer such a riot 'Chiru!"

Shiro was gonna be a toasted white rat once he got the air back in his lungs.

"Grimm? You okay?"

Bless Ichi for being the compassionate and caring soul that he was... until a certain pink-haired menace spoke up.

"Icchy~ Neko-chan was bein' mean to me!"

Oh fuck all that was holy and more. He was going to _kill_ someone, preferably Shiro or Yachiru since both were doing a fabulous job of pissing him off. But that would have to wait until he heard the "Do Not Bully Children" lecture again. Kenpachi's gruff chuckles as he got chewed out did nothing to soothe his wounded pride.

He really needed new friends. After he strangled his current ones first and fed his little sister who was now bawling about wanting honey on fried spaghetti.

Grimmjow mentally swore that one day, he would find the bastard that had introduced his sister to the poison she called food.

God_damn_ he should get a prize for staying sane amidst the maniacs he called friends and family.

* * *

It was the same as all the prior days. Ulquiorra stood in his watching spot and observed the movements of the blue-haired man. If his sullen expression was anything to go by, then he had been forbidden from fighting and was being forced to rest by the orange-haired male who was glaring pointedly at the blunette with arms crossed as if daring him to argue.

It was unfortunate since this meant he could not collect any more useful information about the man's capabilities. Yet even though he knew he would not be acquiring further data for future references, he did not leave. There was something about the street fighter, something compelling and addicting that left Ulquiorra's overly analytical mind spinning as he tried to comprehend things he had never experienced before.

Szayel had been far from helpful.

_'You sound like you have a bad case of high school crush syndrome Ulquiorra. Best get rid of the source while you can. Nip the bud early so to say."_

The last sentence had been in jest but Ulquiorra knew that it was legitimate advice from the eccentric octava though he was having serious doubts about his colleague's assessment of his 'problem.' He was most certainly not infatuated with the blunette. Intrigued, yes. Appreciative of the natural feline grace the muscular Adonis had, undoubtedly. But that was the extent of his interest.

Lips pursing together in mild displeasure, Ulquiorra wondered if even this current fascination was a danger to his duties and if he should really heed the friendly words from the scientist. If it hadn't been anything serious, Szayel would have merely poked fun at him before sending him on his way.

Absently touching the sleek handle of his hidden gun, Ulquiorra debated over his options. He could rid himself once and for all of this bizarre obsession with a stranger with whom he had shared a less than positive first encounter with. He could continue his silent observations from afar until he reached a more solid conclusion. Or-

"Boy, I know Grimmy's a looker but ya don' gotta look at 'im like he's yer next meal ghosty."

The lilted, watery voice made him turn his head so fast it was almost a blur as his hand almost whipped out his gun. He just barely managed to prevent himself from exposing his secret weapon to the albino whose strange liquid gold eyes stared at him with something akin to amused suspicion.

Ulquiorra let his hand slide away from his coat pocket in a deceptively casual manner though his tension was far from eased. Never had anyone snuck up on him as badly and inconspicuously as this man had. Either he was getting rusty on his skills or this man was that skilled at hiding his presence. It was disconcerting to say the least however he brushed off any internal confusion as he replied coolly, "I do not understand what you mean."

His crisp words garnered a raised ashen brow before the albino jerked his head in the direction of the blunette and his orange-haired twin as he said, "Don't gimme that shit. Ya've been watchin' Grimmy fer a while now. I only noticed 'cause Ichigo told me kitty cat's been feelin' somethin' strange from this gen'ral area and asked me t' keep an eye out." Eerie golden dipped in obsidian black pinned him with a steady look.

"So you need somethin' with kitty cat or are ya the next stalker we're gonna be kickin' the shit outta?"

Ulquiorra weighed his options of what to say. He was confident he could handle any street fighter on any given day however something about the albino set his alarms off in a most disturbing manner. This man was dangerous, similar to the blue-haired man in some ways yet with a far more primal and almost malevolent touch to his presence and it made him reluctant to say anything that may set the man off. Few could instill this sense of wariness in him and it was strange that this albino had managed to land himself onto this list. What he required wasn't aggression, it was caution and discretion.

Keeping his face perfectly calm and collected, Ulquiorra finally said smoothly, "I wandered into the area a few days ago and came upon this fighting arena. I was... intrigued by your friend's strength as he possesses a brutality few seem to be able to match." If the albino was suspicious of his 'wandering,' he didn't voice it. Instead, a mischievous grin suddenly appeared on his face, replacing the almost dangerous glint in his expression so rapidly Ulquiorra was momentarily disconcerted as he said gleefully, "So ghosty's a fighter huh?" Ulquiorra masterfully hid any surprise at the man's accurate deduction -and irritation at the nickname- as said person continued, "Why dontcha c'mon over and meet Grimmy 'stead of lurkin' over 'ere?"

He was about to protest but then the brash albino cupped his hands before his mouth, black nail polish glinting in the sunlight, as he shouted loudly, "Oi! Grimmy, Ichi, get yer asses over 'ere or Imma gonna let the whole hood know what we did last night!" Several roars of approval and curiosity rang in the air as the two swiftly dodged any grasping hands and made their hurried -and quite clearly aggravated- way over.

Pinning his twin with a look of pure annoyance, 'Ichi' hissed angrily, "Shiro! Why the fuck did you say something like that?! Now they're going to think their stupid perverted rumors are true." 'Grimmy' looked equally displeased as he snarled, "Y'know, I was just about to find someone to get laid with and you pretty much just sent that plan straight into the pits of hell." Grinning, the albino threw a companionable arm over his twin's shoulders as he drawled, "Love ya two honey an' sweet cheeks but let's save the whole 'don' interrupt me when I'm looking for a fuck' talk for later. Ya got a new fan Grimm-kitty~"

Scowling heavily, too blue orbs finally pinned their intense gaze onto him. The man's eyes truly were a beautiful color- they were just like the color of the sky: vast, depthless, and completely and utterly free... So different from his guarded, earthen orbs. Breathtaking blue stared at him blankly for a moment before abruptly, a spark of recognition flashed in them.

"You!"

The orange-haired male's response seemed almost automatic. "Grimm, it's rude to point." The albino's question was the more natural reaction. "Y'know each other already?" A heavy scowl appeared on the handsome face but failed to do anything more than make him seem much more appealing as he grumbled, "Ran into each other a few days ago. Literally. Bastard's hard as a rock and as friendly as one too."

His friends shared identical looks of amused exasperation. "Grimm, you do realize you're hardly socially friendly too right?" Sending a withering glare at the orange-haired male, said person just smirked lightly before looking at Ulquiorra.

"Sorry about him. Grimm's got a nasty temper and no manners to speak of. He was probably rude to you first." Scoffing, the blunette glared down at Ulquiorra from his impressive height as he asked in what was obviously a semi-forced muted snarl, "Who the hell're you anyway?" Affronted by the man's rather brusque manner but outwardly unfazed, Ulquiorra replied fluidly, "My name is Ulquiorra." His lack of a surname didn't seem to bother the three since the orange-haired man smiled -a rather nice and warm smile he noted begrudgingly- and said, "I'm Ichigo. This is my brother Shiro and Mr. Grumpy over there is Grimmjow." Grimmjow muttered something that sounded like, "Ain't grumpy," before narrowed blue glanced at him appraisingly.

"So you're the one who was watchin' me?"

The street fighters here were either very talented or these men were just especially exceptional considering their astute assumptions and keen senses. Ulquiorra possessed a sort of natural obscurity that made it difficult for people to notice him even in broad daylight. Perhaps he would try to recruit them in the future after assessing their skills a bit more. 'Grimmjow' was a definite possibility and he was curious about how strong the other two were if they were allowed past the blunette's defenses.

"Stop that."

Blinking, emerald orbs stared inquisitively at Grimmjow. The street fighter crossed his arms over his chest in aggravation as he snapped, "Quit lookin' at us like we're goods and you're the latest buyer you asshole." Was his observing gaze so offensive? No one had ever pointed out how he looked at them. Inclining his head slightly, he asked, perplexed, "Is there something strange about my gaze?" He received three slightly incredulous stares before Shiro muttered, "Oh, one of those kinda people."

Nudging him in the stomach with his elbow, Ichigo -ever the more cooperative of the three- replied hesitantly, "Um not really strange..." He sent a sharp glare at Grimmjow when the blunette muttered, "Hell yes weird," before he turned his attention back to Ulquiorra and explained, "It's just... it's like you're not looking at us like we're people."

Ulquiorra blinked. Well, it was true he did spend most of his life not quite distinguishing humans from the trash he tossed into the dumpster outside his apartment but he thought he hid his lack of love for the human race quite well. Then again, these peculiar individuals _were_ quite different so perhaps he would need to try to alter his gaze. If being 'friendly' helped him collect better information then it was his duty to exhaust every method of socializing possible no matter how tedious.

Shiro snickered and said, "Ya look like yer torn between trying' t' decide if we're a new species o' pig or if we're a new type o' rock. An improvement I guess." Ulquiorra didn't understand how a simple look could generate that sort of explicit message but apparently they were satisfied with leaving well enough alone since Ichigo had that friendly look on his face again as he asked, "Are you interested in Grimm's fights?" He didn't bother waiting for a response as he continued, "Grimm won't be able to fight for a few days since the idiot got one of his injuries infected but if you come back in a few days, he should be alright by then."

Ulquiorra glanced between the three of them doubtfully before settling his gaze unsurprisingly on the blunette. "Are you not suspicious of me?" Grimmjow scoffed and replied, "If I didn't demand answers and shit from you before, I ain't about to start now. I don't care who you are, where yer from, or what you do so long as ya don't piss me off." His words were brief, sharp, and honest to a fault. And with that, he turned and began walking away, ignoring Ichigo's protests. Sighing, the orange-haired male gave him an apologetic smile and a quick "Bye," before he and his twin hurried after the retreating back of the street fighter.

Ulquiorra stayed where he was for a few more seconds before he slowly began making his own way back to the city. The confrontation today had been unexpected to say the least. Socializing was not his forte, especially when it was with people who were not in his profession. Aside from books, tea, killing techniques, targets, and torture methods, there wasn't much Ulquiorra knew about. His knowledge was especially limited in terms of the primitive and and lacking life in the slums.

He paused at that last thought. Why did he care about learning the ways of the slums? He was not there to socialize and learn about the people there. It was simply a new place that he could cleanse when he had free time, nothing more and nothing less.

He would be receiving missions again very soon. He couldn't afford getting distracted and wasting time in this dumpster for human filth. He had no obligation to return again unless it was to kill.

But as flashes of hair-raising lethality, warm smiles, and most of all profound deep blue ran through his mind, Ulquiorra knew he would come back. He had taken a bite of the alluring poisonous apple in his perfectly ideal and orderly world and now he could not escape its grasp.

As he stepped into his as per usual cold apartment, he knew that he had crossed the line of no return when he let himself interact with the source of his fascination. He was intrigued by these people who were strong in a world where even the strongest were regarded the scum of society. And he was captivated by the ferocity of the primal energy trapped within a certain blue-haired man's body.

He wanted to see that man and perhaps his friends again.

It was a desire that was undeniable but so very foreign.

* * *

A/N: I'm glad this story has been so well-received! I will strive to keep people as in-character as possible though if they seem OOC, I apologize ^^

Reviews are, as always, the holy grail to us writers so keep letting me know what you think! I will be detracting from my other stories for a while since they're all so... Ichi-based (I love him way too much XD) and I want to try something that explores other characters more (though I couldn't quite keep him out of this story either). On the down side, that means my other stories will be put off for longer than necessary again. On the brighter side, I will be focusing mostly on this story until 2013 begins (if we all survive whatever cataclysmic event potentially occurs).

Love you all~

-Diamond Snowflake


	3. Clash of the Beasts

Ulquiorra managed to ignore his impulses to return to the slums for a single meager week. To be fair, the only reason he chose to go back once more in the end was because he had very nearly managed to fumble up on an assassination after finally beginning to receive assignments again. For him to hit the balding politician's head two centimeters below his intended target spot from his hidden perch a building and several stories higher away was simply unfathomable and unacceptable.

And all because his foolish mind seemed obstinately intent on seeing piercing blue and wild bloodthirsty grins. He couldn't understand why those images occupied his thoughts so persistently but it had reached the point where they became a hindrance to his work. Thus, he had concluded to deal with the situation directly- by going and seeing the source of his ire.

After delivering his written report to Tousen-sama about the success of his latest task (including his error since no matter how much he wished to omit it, the dead body revealed everything so he may as well be honest) and sending an inconspicuous glare at Gin-sama when the foxy man waved cheerily, Ulquiorra strode towards the elevators and began the long descent to the bottom of the sixty-four leveled building.

While the top floor was befitting of his lord's status and it allowed their organization to discuss matters that the mindless trash below had no business hearing about, it was a tad tedious when all one had to do was drop off some papers.

The elevator abruptly smoothly eased to a stop at the fifty-eighth floor and made a small dinging noise before the stainless steel doors slid silently open to allow another person on. Ulquiorra's expression didn't alter even the slightest bit but he was inwardly satisfied to see it was one of the few people whose presence he found relatively tolerable.

Pink hair with bangs pushed meticulously to the left side of an angular face was a physical appearance unique to the octava, Szayel Apporo Granz. His white-rimmed glasses and pristine white lab coat over pressed brown slacks gave the overall impression of a neat, highly intellectual and respectable doctor which for the most part to the general public, he was. The insanity that occasionally glinted in his mustard colored eyes and his true personality said otherwise however, and they spoke volumes of his credibility as a licensed doctor.

In other words, he was the perfect person to serve as the medic and occasional poisoner for Aizen-sama's 'company.'

Sadistic nature and haughty attitude aside, Szayel was one of the few dubiously sane individuals Ulquiorra trusted to hold a relatively normal conversation with and his skills were ones he had come to appreciate after witnessing the octava's effortless and quick doctoring on others and on himself. He just immensely disliked being in the other's presence whenever the octava finished a spat with his elder brother since he tended to fall into one of his peculiar acting routine's and became an insufferable fool hellbent on making others as miserable or irritated as himself.

To his relief, Szayel's demeanor was one of professional calm and composure and his words were of ordinary friendly conversation as he joined him.

"Heading out Ulquiorra?"

He was flipping through some papers in his arms as he asked and though he seemed like he wasn't paying any attention to him, Ulquiorra was well aware that the observant scientist was hardly distracted. Keeping his gaze fixed on the glowing red numbers as the elevator continued its slow descent, he replied in a neutral murmur, "I have some business to take care of." Ulquiorra pointedly ignored the speculative look that appeared on the octava's face.

Fortunately, Szayel didn't press for more. Instead, he glanced through more papers and asked rather randomly, "Have any idea why Aizen-sama keeps sending Starrk out on intel missions? That narcoleptic idiot keeps whining to me about losing precious sleep hours for a mission he has no details about." Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed slightly- that was rather strange. Aizen-sama typically gave a clear order of what he wanted no matter how inane a threat it was to him. In fact, intel missions in general were never necessary since nothing could slip by the wily fox he had at his side.

His muted silence caused his colleague to sigh woefully. "Oh well. If even you don't know what's going on then it's probably just Gin-sama asking for entertainment again." A highly plausible theory but not quite one Ulquiorra could see his lord adhering to. Spontaneous verification tests were one thing, using the primera for pointless missions was an entirely different matter. He mulled over other possibilities before immediately cutting his thoughts off. He had no business questioning his lord's decisions, no matter how unusual they may be.

Szayel seemed to have reached the same conclusion since he just shrugged, glared impatiently at the slowly decreasing numbers on the elevator screen before looking back at the cuarta.

"So... what sort of business do you have that could possibly force you to stop doing obsessive research of every single one of Aizen-sama's potential enemies?" Had Ulquiorra been a lesser person, he would have groaned at the return to a topic he had no wish to discuss. As it was though, he merely stated plainly, "I have been distracted as of late. I am merely going to try to resolve this." He had hoped his words were cryptic enough that the scientist wouldn't quite be able to understand while still being mostly satisfied by his response but to his dismsy, the scientist was not as idiotic as Yammy. He immediately identified the source of his problem.

"You mean you haven't gotten rid of... that?"

Irritated emerald met inquiring mustard-colored orbs. "There is no need to." That was a lie and he had a feeling his colleague knew that but all Szayel did was sigh and say, "Just be careful alright? It'd be a problem if word got out that the cuarta got himself killed in a botched mission because he was smitten with a thug."

The corner's of his mouth tugged down in the faintest sign of displeasure at the light-hearted comment as Ulquiorra muttered, "As if such utter foolishness could ever happen." He then added for good measure, "And I am not... smitten. It is merely curiosity." Somehow, even to his ears those words didn't quite ring true. But as per usual, when faced with emotions or feelings he couldn't comprehend, Ulquiorra dismissed them and stuffed them into the depths of his consciousness where he wouldn't need think about them.

Szayel smirked, flashing Ulquiorra a saucy wink as the elevator finally reached the bottom floor, the doors swinging open in time with his final comment.

"Keep telling yourself that cuarta. Curiosity is always the beginning. It's what comes after that becomes the problem."

And with that, the octava strode away, his long white lab coat swaying in time with his light steps as he resumed flipping through his papers. Ulquiorra hesitated briefly before stepping out as well, his thoughts once more slipping towards issues he had no desire to address.

He couldn't comprehend what the scientist meant but he knew the other had been giving him a warning of sorts much like before. If he were to be candidly honest with himself -a rare feat of introspection and not one he liked to explore- then he would admit that his interest in the street fighter was not quite like his usual aloof curiosity.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he should end things permanently. That man -Grimmjow his mind supplied unhelpfully- was a piece of trash that was extremely dangerous in numerous ways. His physical prowess, his bestial intensity, his godly beauty... Ulquiorra sharply deterred from that line of thought as he began striding gracefully out of the building.

Yes, perhaps it was time to eliminate the seed before it grew into something even more troublesome.

* * *

Grimmjow was just about ready to kill something. Or someone. Preferably the latter since he found more joy in breaking bones than in breaking already broken bottles or whatever other trash was strewn on the ground. Point being, he was pissed and he needed an outlet.

Not only had his opponents been chickening out for the past three consecutive fights but he also had a sick Nel, a worried Ichigo, an idiotic moony Shiro who apparently managed to get his tight-ass nerdy boyfriend to sleep with him last night, and last but most definitely not the damn least, glacial emerald orbs that refused to stop invading his every fucking thought.

That last one was by far, the worst. He'd met the guy what, twice? And neither encounter had been exactly la-dee-da sunshine and butterflies. Hell, both encounters had only served to heighten his awareness of the shady guy's character. He couldn't tell if it was because his gut instinct was telling him the little shit was dangerous or if it was his libido going on a hormone spree after finally seeing someone who looked like they'd make a great one night stand without fading on him halfway in the night.

Goddamn he needed sex. Sex was like fighting and food- it was his third lifeline and one he didn't plan on giving up on just because bastards were more keen on fucking the weaker looking twins (they'd be in for the worst time of their lives if they ever managed to land the completely insatiable and overpowering duo in bed) and the prostitutes were too busy cooing over how positively _adorable_ the not-actually-sexual relationship between him and Ichigo was.

Urgh. Women and their weird as fuck fantasies about gay men. He would never understand them even if he did go completely gay. Ichigo was hot, yes. He had one amazing ass, hell yeah. But by all the damn gods in whatever rainbow and sparkles world up there existed, that didn't mean he would ever be romantically tied to someone who knew more about him than he himself probably knew.

Stupid fantasies. Stupid misconceptions. Stupid no one-night stands.

A lone gangster came into view, saw his murderous look, and promptly high-tailed away. And Grimmjow had just been about to get his damn hopes up. Stupid weaklings. Stupid lack of fights.

Piercing green flashed in his head again.

Stupid stuck-up bastards who stick themselves in other people's heads and then vanish off the face of the earth like a freaking pixy.

Growling under his breath, sharp canines glinting as they were partly revealed beneath his snarling lips, Grimmjow stormed around the corner of a building and it was like deja-fucking-vu when he smashed into something that was sturdier than half the brick walls in the area and yet still skinnier than a twig.

Thanking all the karma that still favored him in their own twisted way for having let him be fully healed from all his past injuries since that hit would have definitely garnered some soreness and stinging, Grimmjow glared down at pitch black hair that was luckily concealing the stupid orbs floating in his thoughts.

There were several questions he wanted to demand, some going more deep and personal and shit than he cared to address or even know the answers to so he opened his mouth to say the safest one.

_Why the hell are you here?_

"Where the hell've you been?"

There was a momentary awkward silence. Well shit that wasn't what he meant to ask. That was too jealous-boyfriend-cliche it wasn't even funny. Shiro would be laughing his ass off if he ever found out about this. But he was never one to take back what was already said so he just maintained his demanding air as though that was what he wanted to know all along.

It got a bit difficult to keep up when emerald finally locked onto his gaze but Grimmjow's pride refused to give away any of the uncertainty he felt inside. He could ask whatever he damn well pleased and make it sound totally natural. Well, not quite since Zaraki once told him he was about as good at lying as he was with drawing anything more complex than a stick figure but that was beside the point.

He was antsy, annoyed, frustrated both sexually and not, and one of the main sources of his bad temper had finally decided to grace him with his holier-than-thou presence.

He just wished the little bastard said something instead of staring at him as though he wanted to either fuck him senseless or viciously slaughter him.

* * *

Ulquiorra inwardly questioned the true abilities of the passage of time. A single week and this trash, this inconceivably beautiful trash, had become something even more stunning. Without the bruises, the scratches, the broken bones... never had Ulquiorra seen something more perfect than the sculpted form before him.

He felt a need, a compelling almost desperate need to do something but he didn't know what it was. He settled for the easiest one to turn to: he needed to end this man before he drowned further into those terribly blue eyes.

He needed to drain that vitality thrumming in a powerful body, eradicate the pulsating warmth the man emanated that he could feel even when he wasn't touching him. He needed to make this beautiful Adonis an ugly, lifeless corpse that would rot along with the other human filth because he was far too distracting, too enticing, to be allowed to live in the same world as he did.

He forgot entirely about the fact that the other had asked him a question. His fight or flight instinct had chosen to kill and he refused to risk any further hesitation lest he experience another bout of uncertainty. He needed to kill this man before whatever it was that was growing between them without either of their consent engulfed him.

There could only be one perfect godly being in his world. There was no room for two. He had Aizen-sama. Powerful, charismatic, cruel, and kind Aizen-sama who was there to illuminate his otherwise black and white world. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't want anyone else.

So this man had to die.

Something must have reflected in his eyes or his facial expression because the street fighter looked surprised for a moment before a fierce grin graced his face.

"Ya wanna have a go?"

The guttural tone, the pink tongue with that tiny silver piercing that slipped out to wet lips, the ripple of muscles beneath golden skin, the bloodlust that raged in those eyes and in every fiber of the man's very being... It was as if he had just asked if they wanted to have a round of violent hot sex and for once, Ulquiorra felt a searing heat erupt throughout his entire body, completely erasing the chill that always encompassed him.

It was an inferno that terrified him and yet one that he relished in.

Using his gun now would be unacceptable. He wanted to touch this man with fists more passionate than any sensual gesture, yearned to dominate him in this brewing competition of brute force and pure bloodlust. He wanted to force this man to submit to him, to tear down this work of perfection from his throne as king of the beasts.

Ulquiorra never realized he had become something he never thought possible.

He was excited.

* * *

Grimmjow could feel adrenaline pumping into his veins, the sweet singing sensations of anticipation and bloody desire swallowing him in their addictive flames and he was loving every single second of it. He had seen the brief flash of a predator in those blank emerald eyes. It was one of the sexiest things ever and he wanted to see it again. He didn't know if he started swinging first or if his slim opponent did.

Frankly, he didn't give a flying fuck.

All that mattered was the tremor of thrill that shot up his spine when both of them expertly dodged the fists flying towards their faces. This guy was a fighter. A strong and skilled fighter. Grimmjow would have laughed if he wasn't so busy keeping sharp cerulean orbs on the fast, deadly thusts of the other's fists. Each attack was aimed with frightening precision towards areas where he could be momentarily incapacitated or thrown of balance and it excited him even more everytime they came just a bit closer to hitting him.

Little fucker was beginning to read his movements and they had barely gotten started. This was just getting better and better.

Ducking low to avoid another hit, Grimmjow shot his leg out, attempting to swing the other's out from beneath him but with liquid grace, the guy nimbly dodged and lashed out at his unprotected head. Cursing, Grimmjow shifted with a feline flexibility that threw almost all his opponents off, throwing himself backwards and catching himself with his arms before using all the powerful muscles coiled in his stomach to thrust his feet up.

The pale man couldn't quite dodge this directly but he blocked the attack with a greater strength than his slim arms seemed to have, blunting most of the edge of the blow and using the momentum from the force of it to leap backwards and put some distance between them.

Grimmjow had a feeling the guy was as pleased as he was that neither of them were even close to being winded yet.

Glancing down at his arms, emerald eyes flickered briefly with something before they rose to meet his gaze with a sweet poisonous look.

"I will kill you."

He said it like it was a fact. Fuck that just turned him on even more. He loved death threats while fighting, it was one of the few things that could spice up any fight so long as the one saying them had the strength to back it up.

And he knew without a doubt that this guy had the potential to slaughter him if he wasn't careful.

Maniacal glee lit up his already luminescent eyes as Grimmjow hissed lowly, predatorily, "Yeah? What're you gonna do? Snap my neck? Crush every bone in my body? Rip my flesh off and paint this shitty place red? Tear out my organs and decorate the streets with 'em and then smash them into little bits with my own bones?"

Smoldering emerald, hotter than even the reddest flames, bore into him as his words became gorier. Grimmjow sneered. He wanted to get under that impeccable mask of tranquility, wanted to see the monster he knew the little bastard was hiding under it because he knew it would be a beast that could match his own. And fight talk was almost as arousing and stimulating as the foulest and dirtiest sex talk known to man.

Cracking his fists, Grimmjow lunged forward. His fist collided with another and he smirked with ecstatic delight when he felt the hard bones in his own hand crack from the pressure of colliding with almost steel bones.

He loved fighting bastards that were stronger than him.

* * *

He didn't understand.

His sharp nails drew a thin line of red as they scraped the delicate skin on the street fighter's cheek.

It was incomprehensible.

He neatly dodged an elbow swung towards his face, using the other's momentary imbalance to land what was as close to a direct blow on the other's solar plexus as they had managed to accomplish in their fight so far. The blunette was far better at fighting than he had anticipated but it was evident that he was still the stronger of the two of them.

So why?

Formerly pristine white teeth now bloodied after he had nicked the side of the man's jaw were bared in a madly anticipating grin even when a sharp jab at his shoulder garnered a quiet crack.

Why was this fool so obviously pleased?

He was the one sporting a myriad of injuries while Ulquiorra only had the faint throbbing in his arms from when he had blocked the spontaneous kick from the blunette earlier. He was the one who was quite clearly going to be the one walking away from this alive.

So why was this trash so unafraid. Thus far, all his victims had quaked in fear of losing their lives. What absurd fool laughed in the face of iminent death so carelessly?

Absolutely inconceivable.

Another sharp strike from his fist, a well-aimed jab with his elbow, a carefully-timed uppercut, and then a final powerful roundhouse sent the blunette crashing to the ground. Straddling the man's thick and strong waist, Ulquiorra pinned him down with his own unique physical prowess as one hand tightly grasped the blunette's unwounded arm to restrain it while his other slid around his throat, almost in a caressing manner had the movement not been so fatally dangerous.

And still the only sight that met him was dancing blue orbs and a shit-eating grin.

Ulquiorra stared down at the puzzling enigma below him. Stray strands of cotton-candy blue hair stuck to a lightly sweating forehead. The muscled chest he hovered above lifted up and down in quiet gasps of breath. He hadn't even realized the blunette was tiring during their fight. The fool had met him at each and every movement, perhaps the only indication he had been tired being the fact that he had stated getting hit by his attacks. He could see the tell-tale signs of bruises already beginning to form on the man's exposed glistening skin. Crimson flowed freely from the cut on his cheek. He was filthy. He was trash. He was an insignificant nobody.

And he was undeniably the most beautiful thing Ulquiorra had ever seen in his entire life.

"Ain't ya gonna finish me?"

The low rumble reverbrated from the blunette's throat to his fingers, sending a pleasant tingle through them that Ulquiorra promptly disregarded. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he murmured quietly, "You are that anxious to rush to your demise?" Predatory eyes laughed up at him.

"Not really. But if ya don't get yer ass moving, I'm gonna catch my breath and then shit will hit the fan again."

Pale fingers tightened around his throat subtly. "You still have the foolish notion that you can overpower me?" Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes at the disdainful snort that ensued. "Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

Challenging blue stared into impassive green. The blunette never ceased to surprise him. He was a mere twitch of the hand away from death and he had the audacity to spout such arrogant nonsense with absolutely nothing to back it up.

His gaze traced the sharp contours of the street fighter's face, trailed down the strong neck grasped in his hand, took in the chiseled chest hidden beeath a crumpled and ragged shirt and then flicked back to intent blue.

He wanted to snap this man's neck. He didn't want to kill him. Ulquiorra couldn't decide what he really wanted and once again, he found himself incapable of reaching a conclusive decision all because of this infuriatingly unpredictable piece of trash.

To strangle?

To let go?

He didn't want to.

Didn't want to do what?

Ulquiorra just didn't know anymore.

And that was terribly frightening.

* * *

Grimmjow furrowed his brows in mild bafflement as he saw the almost imperceptibly lost expression on his captor's face. For someone who had seemed so self-assured and completely in control of his actions and thoughts, it was a bit unnerving to see the lack of certainty now, especially when they had been so intent on killing each other only a few moments ago.

Grimmjow wasn't a very nice person. He could give less than two shits what crap people were going through or what sort of psychological issues they were having. But something tugged inside him when he saw the bizarre expression. It reminded him too much of when he had first met Ichigo and Shiro five years ago when they were less of the cocky nuisances they were now and more like cornered animals trying to make the best choices to survive.

He was still an ass at heart. He still spoke the language of rude bastard down to the last syllable. He still didn't have the definition of tact in his mental dictionary.

But for some retardedly inexplicable reason, he didn't want to leave this guy, Ulqui-something or other, alone. It just didn't sit well with a bit beneath the skinny bastard's tight grip, he opened his mouth no doubt ready to speak his native jackass language.

"Hey-"

He never got the chance to finish the unformed question in his head.

Because at that precise moment, a husky voice asked worriedly, "Grimm?"

Both the fighters jerked slightly, Grimmjow more prominently than the one sitting on him as he craned his neck a bit to see Ichigo glancing uncertaintly between them, what looked like a pharmaceutical bag in his hand. Shiro's boy toy probably gave them a little freebie for Nel. Nice. He would have felt a bit more thankful if he wasn't currently more focused on Ichigo's albino twin who, in contrast to Ichigo's erratic eye movements, had fixed his golden gaze on the hand on his throat with an eerily blank expression.

Oh shit, he knew that look.

That was Shiro's 'I'm about to go ape-shit crazy and I ain't gonna calm down until the shit that pissed me off is dead' expression.

Usually, that look only appeared when Ichigo was in trouble but apparently Grimmjow fell under the albino's overly protective umbrella as well. He appreciated the sentiment. Kind of. A teeny bit. Pissed him off a bit but he knew his friend only meant well. He really did. But the last thing he needed was Shiro attacking people over a stupid misunderstanding which actually happened a lot more frequently than they really should be. And by the damn gods he didn't need someone else to protect his wounded ego.

Grimmjow glared at the extremely pensive albino. "Don't Shiro."

Ichigo was now casting his twin wary glances as well as he said carefully, "Um Grimm, this... what are you-?"

A lilted growl spilled from Shiro's pale lips, cutting off his more colorful counterpart as he hissed in a dangerous, malevolent snarl, "Let 'im go ghosty."

For a moment, no one moved. Grimmjow was almost worried that if he breathed, the albino would snap. Ichigo was there but something told him that if the emerald-eyed man didn't let go, he would be facing off against both twins. Ichigo was just as, if not even more so, fiercely protective of those he liked and his fighting skills were seriously no joke. Combined with Shiro's prowess, they were absolute monsters and could probably take someone of even Zaraki's caliber down with little to no effort with the right provocations. Him being in what looked like a deadly situation apparently counted as one of those little 'provocations.'

The hand around his throat seemed to be frozen or at least turned into stone. Pale fingers didn't even so much as twitch. He had a distinct feeling his opponent was also handling the situation very delicately. He probably sensed that neither twin was really calm at the moment despite their apparent control over themselves. They were all animals in some way or another, strong and proud beasts with highly alert of senses of what the others were capable of and throwing them all in a situation like this was pretty much begging for disaster unless someone caved in.

And then slowly, Ulqui-whatever-the-rest-of-his-name-was relinquished his grip on his neck. With a wariness that resembled someone trying not to startle already agitated beasts, the raven-haired man backed off of him and moved away.

Instantly, Ichigo was at his side, long fingers lightly touching him and checking for any life-threatening injuries, the bag of medicine carefully set on the ground despite his rush to aid him. Though he detested being babied by his friend, Grimmjow knew better than to argue- it was rare for him to lose to anyone and even rarer for him to be put in a situation that looked like he was about to get killed.

If there was one thing he knew that frightened the normally immovable twins, it was the possibility of losing him to something beyond their control.

And if he was perfectly honest, it stroked his ego to have Ichigo's hands running all over his body. That was probably the leftover adrenaline speaking but still, he could appreciate a little service after getting his ass totally handed to him.

Grimmjow then glanced warily at where the two palest of them all were still watching each other, both men seeming to understand that the other was strong but not quite willing to back off. Grimmjow now knew the emerald-eyed man was a skilled fighter but he had never seen Shiro lose nor had he ever really seen the albino's true fighting strength since for some reason, he always seemed to be holding back whenever they sparred.

Well damn. He knew he had been hoping for a fight but this wasn't what he had had in mind exactly. His somewhat happy feeling dampened to sullen and just a bit pissed off.

He had just found someone worth fighting with and he'd be damned if he let Shiro take away this golden opportunity that had presented itself to him. Strong fighters that could take him down like the pale raven-haired man were extraordinarily hard to come by and there was no way in hell he was letting that go.

Hissing slightly when Ichigo prodded his bruised shoulder, he gave the concerned ginger a reassuring smirk before directing his attention back at the two pale pensive fighters.

"Oi, Shiro."

Carefully blank golden pupils flicked in his direction before zeroing in on his former target again.

"What Blue?"

Scowling at the dismissive actions of the albino, Grimmjow growled warningly, "I'll be pissed as fuck if you take my prey. I haven't been able to let loose like that in _ages_." Shiro cast another sparse glance at him before looking away again. "That didn' look like playin' Grimm." His lilted voice took on a colder tone, resembling a turbulent river of ice rather than its usual playful watery one as he snarled, "This bastard looked like he was a hair away from killin' ya."

Considering Zaraki looked like he was perpetually a hair's breath away from killing anybody, Grimmjow didn't see how that mattered. But then again, Ulqui (he finally gave up trying to recall the rest of his name) was a suspicious stranger that had been absent for so long after watching him for several consecutive days and when he had finally returned, he looked like he was going to snap his neck.

Yeah, ok. Maybe goading Ulqui into killing him when they were in such near vicinity of the fighting area where the twins frequented wasn't such a smart idea. But still...

"I egged him on Shiro so calm the fuck down. Ulqui's my new sparring buddy so don't you dare go fucking batshit crazy homicidal on me."

His words garnered several responses.

"He's your what?!" Shiro demanded in disbelief, ever the one to have the most normal reaction in a situation despite being the least mentally stable of them all. "Grimm, sparring usually doesn't equal trying to kill each other." And there was Ichigo's bizarre focus on the semantics of things. It was sometimes hard to say whether Ichigo was the most normal or the most eccentric of their little misfit trio. Though he had to say, Ulqui's reaction was the most amusing since a muscle in his jaw twitched and a rather obviously irritated look glinted in his emerald eyes as he uttered indignantly, "'Ulqui'?" Grimmjow just shrugged in response to all three, regretting the action a bit when it jarred his shoulder.

Warding off Ichigo's worried hands, Grimmjow stumbled to his feet, experiencing a bit of vertigo from the sudden shift in perspective from laying on his ass for so long before he ran a hand through unruly blue hair.

"Chill Snow White, I'm fine. Right Ichi?" Ichigo pursed his lips together, assessing what he had seen from Grimmjow's reactions to his prodding before he nodded a bit in agreement. "He just has a few bruises that are going to hurt like a bitch for a while and a couple scratches. But other than that, he's ok."

Shiro fixed an intense stare on his twin, searching for any evidence of lying or trying to cover up for Grimmjow's sake. They had tried that once before and it had ended in complete failure so Grimmjow didn't really know why Shiro bothered checking when he knew they weren't stupid enough to try to pull that stunt off again. He and Ichigo were pretty evenly matched in the lying department. Shiro was the one who could stab someone in front of several witnesses and still somehow convince them that it was someone else who did that.

Finally satisfied that both of them were being honest, Shiro glanced back at the silent raven-haired man. "So the two o' ya were seriously jus' playin'?" His posture grew less aggressive and that seemed to ease some of the tension in 'Ulqui's' body as the danger passed. Grimmjow scowled and grumbled heavily, "I don't 'play' but yeah. So for fuck's sake Shiro, relax." He directed his gaze to the shorter man at his side and added, "You too Ichi. If you keep gettin' worried 'bout others so much, yer gonna get hair like Snow White."

Ichigo gave him a small rueful smile as Shiro complained indignantly about the princess nickname. The rest of the tension seemed to drain away at the familiar antics between them and Grimmjow was glad that the twins were back to relatively normal. He rarely had to deal with both of them in such a dangerous state of rage and he had no desire to go through it again. Heaven or hell help him, he hated having to play peacemaker. That was Ichigo's job and he was much better at it than he was.

Looking back at where Ulqui was, Grimmjow was pretty impressed the pale man had stayed after facing Shiro at level thirteen rage on his pissed-o-meter. Their eyes locked again and Grimmjow found himself fully appreciating the actual clarity of the emerald orbs that his pitiful imagination didn't do any justice for. Ulqui was a looker, he had to give him that.

So caught up in their mini staring match, both failed to notice the twins glancing between them, identical amusement and interest on their faces. Shiro, as per usual, was the one who ruined the moment. "Alright, I'm curious. Were the two o' ya jus' super pissed off at each other or was that some really aggressive foreplay fer some rough sex?"

Ichigo choked back a horrified, "Shiro!" while Grimmjow felt a vein twitch.

Fuck. Injuries or no, he was going to _kill_ the albino bastard.

* * *

If Ulquiorra had been put off by the insufferable blunette's atrocious mutilation of his name or by the penetrating blue that had pierced his very core from their staring match, it was nothing compared to the feeling he felt at the albino's words. And he had thought Nnoitra was the worst fool with anything concerning even the slightest bit of discretion.

But more than anything, he was caught off guard by the sudden switch in demeanor towards him.

He was still very wary of the albino. That display of intimidation was not one picked up by rough housing with other thugs. There had been an intense promise of death that was far more befitting of someone well versed in the art of killing and it set him on edge. It was marginally relieving to see that boiling fury dissipate into casual jest once more however the albino's strange behavior was not one he was going to be forgetting any time soon.

And the other...

Equally difficult, no, a far bigger enigma than his albino look-a-like. It had been so faint, so near undetectable, but there had been without a doubt a hint of lethal danger that had set off more alarms in his head than the albino's outwardly aggressive stance. He vaguely wondered where the blunette had met such truly unusual and unreadable individuals and for the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to concern. That particular feeling was instantly squished and rejected from his system as soon as it had come.

He had to remind himself that it mattered little to him who the street fighter chose to associate with and that the concern he had felt was for the sake of his lord. If two unpredictable variables such as the twins were so free to do whatever they pleased, they could possibly become a danger to Aizen-sama. If they became free-lance killers or were picked up by an opposing organization, they would be a very hazardous threat and that was unacceptable.

Yes, his concerns had nothing to do with the blue haired man's safety at all.

Reassured that his priorities were still right, Ulquiorra settled for the most diplomatic way to end things on relatively peaceful terms. If he wanted answers, he would need to get the three fighters to have some amount of trust in him and a tactful retreat in this instance would be the most beneficial. Ashen face devoid of emotion as per usual, Ulquiorra stated quietly, "I apologize. I allowed myself to lose control in the heat of the moment and behaved in a most barbaric manner. I did not intend to let things get so out of hand."

That last part was a bit of a lie- he knew he had been dead set on ending the street fighter's life before they started fighting and he knew the blunette had seen the deadly bloodlust directed at him. He was taking a gamble and the reliability of his words were now largely dependent on whether his latest interest agreed.

He was not disappointed.

"See? Told ya he blew it when I antagonized him." The twins looked at the two and then glanced at each other, some strange silent communication occurring between them privy to no one but themselves before Ichigo smiled wanly and said, "It's okay... just don't let it happen again." Shiro tilted his head in agreement with what his twin said and Ulquiorra assumed it was safe to say the situation had been dealt with accordingly in the best manner possible.

However, he was unsure about whether his presence would be welcome anymore or if he would have to start using some more... discreet methods to obtain information. Fortunately, his dilemma was solved in three simple words.

"You coming back?"

Gazing at the face of the owner of that deep, throaty voice, Ulquiorra didn't even bother to question the wisdom behind his decision to allow the blunette to continue breathing. It had become clear those few minutes before the twins had arrived that he did not have the necessary conviction or desire to kill this man. But such a mindset would hold only until his curiosity had been sated and if the man continued to pose no threat to his lord.

He now knew he had the strength to overpower the much bulkier fighter should things come to that and so long as his friends were absent or incapable of attacking him simultaneously, he was quite confident that he could subdue them as well.

But for now, he would continue this charade of friendliness.

With a small inclination of his head, Ulquiorra replied evenly, "Yes."

In the future, he would look back upon this moment and realize that perhaps this was the beginning where his loyalties began to diverge and when his black and white world illuminated by his lord began to get painted over with a glorious, deep blue.

* * *

A/N: *Sigh.* I was having difficulties with this chapter but I can only read it so many times before I try to strangle something. Apologies if it seems too choppy and fast-paced.

I meant to do this after I first published the story since it's a habit I feel is only an obvious obligation from a writer to her readers/reviewers for providing their support. I would include the names of those who have favorites this story but I have no idea how to find out that sort of thing ._. Anyhoo, here we go~

Aha! Never mind, the magnificent me has found where I can find favorite-ers~

I'm so happy that ArtisanDreamCatcher, Jules Mordecai, ShiroMoon, inominatenoname, junjouLYN, Blackcatlover1, Moy-kun, PsychedelicJet64, Quietwolfgirl, Saya and Hagi together 4 ever, Shiro6789, bloodyhunter, code ninjahinja, and mslunarissa favorites this story and I hope it's living up to your expectations!

And many, many thanks to junjouLYN, Nazrita, ShiroMoon, Jules Mordecai, awesomehatyougotthere, inominatenoname, amariys, ArtisanDreamCatcher, Guest, Afro-bunny, and ablueberrynight! Your comments were wonderful boosters for my confidence about writing a fic centered around characters I haven't really written about. Muchas gracias and I hope to hear from you all as well as new reviewers in the future~


	4. Unexpected Developments

Edit Note: Oh my... Can't believe I managed to make a really sad spelling error of a word that's four letters long. My english teachers would cry if they ever saw that. Thank you to APurpleAvocado for pointing that out as well as other grammatical errors. I may eventually scour through the whole chapter for some of the other things you pointed out however my brain needs a small break from this chapter -_-;;

Thank you!

* * *

A couple weeks had passed after the fight and near-messy situation and Ulquiorra had gathered several new insights on his 'observation specimens' via simply listening and watching their daily antics. Several... bizarre insights.

From small skirmishes between Grimmjow and Shiro, he gleaned that the latter was a master at, as quoted by the blunette, "pissing others off to the point that they wanted to snap his neck" but his strength, flexibility, and speed were more often than not, superior to those who sought vengeance and had the audacity to challenge him. The albino was also the most volatile of the three, switching from playful to angry with a single word for reasons known to no one else but him.

Ichigo said it was because his twin was bad at expressing himself in an understandable way. Grimmjow claimed it was because the albino was like that of an impregnated woman twenty-four seven with severe mental issues. And the albino himself declared that the people who pissed him off just had bad timing and managed to get him when he was in a foul mood, the "poor unlucky bastards."

The last was something Ulquiorra highly doubted when he took into consideration one instance in which Shiro had been inexplicably pleased about something but when someone attempted to greet him, he flew into a sudden fury that took an entire box of newly bought (stolen) candy bars and one badly bruised and confused victim to pacify.

So the albino was one unstable, possibly hazardous variable he was inclined to keep an eye on. Nothing he wasn't already aware of.

As for Ichigo, he was indeed an enigma Ulquiorra was still puzzled over. According to the other two, the equally temperamental but generally most pleasant of them was also apparently the strongest fighter in the slums. He was allegedly the only one who had defeated a legendary fighting beast, Zaraki Kenpachi, in a one-on-one fight and lived to tell the tale.

And yet, according to said person himself, the ginger had a wistful aspiration to become a doctor.

While Ulquiorra could accept the possibility of that considering how quickly and professionally Ichigo patched Grimmjow up after his fights and how he amiably agreed to bandage anyone who came to him for first aid, he simply couldn't fathom why someone with such fighting prowess would settle for tending the wounds of others unless he had something to gain from doing so.

Szayel, for example, chose to heal because it permitted him to scam enormous amounts of money out of others whilst not needing to worry about defending himself since he had Aizen-sama's protection. Ichigo needed neither protection nor apparently money as he never forced compensation from his patients (though he accepted any voluntarily offered gifts from some who adamantly refused to leave unless he took them). It was as if the man simply had the goodwill to cater to those who were in pain, a compassion that was foreign and highly doubtful in his mind.

Ulquiorra was miffed however he felt no need to probe further. If the lethal but overall innocuous ginger was satisfied with steering clear of fighting unless a drastic situation called for it, then the level of potential threat he posed decreased dramatically.

Frantic roars and cheers brought his attention back to his surroundings which he had momentarily placed into the background of his mind as he contemplated his findings. He was standing a safe distance away from the pungent rats of the slums and their sweaty, greasy skin while still hovering close enough to peer through the throng of trash to where an enormous man with an eyepatch was savagely exchanging blows with Grimmjow.

A bet, Ichigo had informed him earlier, to claim the title of strongest fighter in the area. Since the fight between the orange-haired male and the beast identified as Zaraki had been done with no spectators save for Shiro and Grimmjow, it was still assumed throughout the territory that the blood-thirsty giant was the strongest with the blunette being the only one brave -and foolish- enough to challenge that claim. Shiro was another infamous 'king' however his fights were supposedly too spontaneous in occurrence and far too bodily-endangering for those who got to close to be enjoyed by viewers. Thus the conflict between Zaraki and Grimmjow was deemed to be the official battle for the figurative crown of the slums.

It sounded positively inane and ludicrous to Ulquiorra but Ichigo had pointed out that if the only things one had to do on a day-to-day basis was eat, sleep, fight, drink, and maybe engage in sexual intercourse, then fighting tended to be one of the more interesting options to pursue and the one which guaranteed the most excitement.

He was far from being one to find amusement in violence unless it served some sort of purpose to his lord or to his own sadistic tendencies however Ulquiorra was inclined to agree that of the available options, fighting did indeed provide the most engagement.

Focusing back on the two wrestling fighters, Ulquiorra carefully thought about what he knew about the blunette and was quite startled about how short the list was compared to the far more guarded twins despite the rather long passage of time since their first meeting.

He knew without a single doubt that Grimmjow loved fighting, both from their first fight and from simple observation. Whereas Shiro could quickly get bored with searching for and subduing others, the blunette actively sought worthy opponents even if it required riling up entire groups of thugs in order to satisfy his blood-thirst. That was a characteristic Ulquiorra was quite familiar with, especially when one had to deal with the careless and barbaric actions of the pernicious and savage quinta.

Thinking of Nnoitra was the equivalent of imagining having to babysit a rabid dog. An unpleasant thought and one Ulquiorra swiftly removed from his mind.

But he was digressing.

Drifting back to the blunette as it was unacceptable for him to lose his original train of thought so easily, he drew up the fact that he knew the blunette was not particularly close to anyone besides the twins and apparently the man he was currently fighting.

And oddly enough... that was about it.

The blunette had no constant lovers aside from the occasional one night stand though even those had been sparse recently to the concern of the twins who proclaimed sex as the only thing that rivaled fights for Grimmjow. As far as family went, Ulquiorra knew he had no parents but that he possibly had a sibling. He was hesitant to consider that last part fact as it was a topic that rarely occurred in his presence.

He couldn't determine if the three were cunning enough to keep all talk of potential weaknesses out of his range of hearing or if it was pure coincidence. Normally, the latter would be discarded as an improbability immediately because it was foolish to ever underestimate threats however these pieces of trash behaved in the most unexpected manners that Ulquiorra was at a loss of what was safe to assume and what would be considered an erroneous presumption.

He watched a strike snap Zaraki's head to the side and then a returning fist slam into Grimmjow's ribcage, both with a force that would have downed a lesser man. Neither fighter had made any feints prior to their attacks nor had they attempted to dodge the other's attack. Both had straightforwardly delivered heavy blows. Both had demonstrated nothing more than punches of open raw strength.

Was someone whose fighting style was so simple and honest be capable of deception and evasive behavior? Experience told him no but again, it felt wrong to make any assumptions without more context when dealing with the slum's trash.

Feeling the tell-tale signs of a headache that indicated he was attempting to process things too quickly that were beyond his accumulated knowledge, Ulquiorra let his thoughts conclude with the fact that it was merely coincidence. There would be opportunities to learn about the blunette's background in depth so long as he continued to observe him and as far as he was aware, there was no need to rush through his observations.

A thin rivulet of blood dripped from a cut on Grimmjow's lip and Ulquiorra soon found his gaze fixated on following the crimson liquid glide down slick tan skin. The blunette really was at the peak of perfection when his bright blue hair and eyes were paired with rich red blood, he thought with mild approval. But for some unfathomable reason, it wasn't quite as aesthetically appealing when the blood belonged to him and when it was placed there by someone else.

He remembered the beautiful liquid that had decorated the man when they had fought. That had been a truly wonderful sight. Ulquiorra had always been a private sadistic artist and seeing his handiwork on a flawless specimen like the street fighter was a luxury he rarely enjoyed since most of his victims tended to be rotting, fat politicians or other equally filthy trash.

Grimmjow was still unnecessary trash however he was akin to one of those shiny objects that was at the very least pleasant to the eye.

Ulquiorra wondered briefly about why that reasoning sounded just a tad weaker than usual.

"Yo ghosty, I know Grimmy's ass is hot but stare any longer and ya might jus' wanna take a picture and hang it on yer wall. Might save ya some starin' effort."

The infuriating nickname -one of many he had for some reason accumulated since he spent more time in the slums- shoved his previous thoughts away as he fixed an imperceptibly narrowed gaze on the grinning albino who had somehow successfully managed to plant himself beside him without his awareness.

He had long since given up on being surprised by the slippery presence of Shiro. It was a sting to his ego however sensing the albino was the equivalent of attempting to keep track of the primera, an impossibility that only Aizen-sama seemed to be able to overcome. Such skills made Shiro all the more suspicious in his mind however the other only did this when he was playing pranks or trying to scare someone. Harmless intentions and thus ignored for the time being. He would deal with the albino's tricky slipperiness should an unpleasant situation arise that required him to do so. It was an abnormal gamble for him to take but all the data he had gathered up until now indicated it was relatively safe to assume that the trio posed no threat -direct and otherwise- to Aizen-sama and could thus be placed solely under strict visual supervision.

Facial features sliding back to unreadable from the slightly irritated one it was before, he uttered pointedly, "Preposterous."

Lithe shoulders shrugged as Shiro leaned against a wall nearby and folded his arms behind his head to make a makeshift pillow, his posture looking surprisingly relaxed considering the albino still didn't trust him and it would be a matter of simple action to utilize dirty tactics to restrain his swiftly and subtly since he was alone. Ulquiorra surreptitiously flicked his gaze around, wondering if this leisurely behavior was due to the close proximity of the more colorful twin.

As if to validate his conclusion of their unpredictability, he was proven wrong.

Despite his seemingly oblivious posture of eyes staring blankly over at the fight and hands threaded behind his snowy head, Shiro said idly, "Ichi went to the city to nab some stuff for us. He ain't gonna be back until later." Ulquiorra gave no indication of his surprise by the disturbingly accurate response to his internal suspicion and Shiro didn't say anything else afterwards so they settled into a somewhat awkward silence.

Said silence was disturbed by a sudden eruption of groans and cheers, far greater in volume than the previous one. Grimmjow was pinned beneath the much larger Zaraki, the former scowling heavily while the latter grinned manically.

"Thirty-eighth one brat."

The blunette growled under his breath, "Yeah yeah, keep gloating while you can Zaraki. I'll definitely kick yer ass soon. Then we'll see whose laughin' like a fuckin' hyena." The large man gave a bark of laughter as the two fighters separated and stood, bumping bruised fists and cracking bloody savage grins at each other which accentuated the rippling power in their powerful bodies that could be glimpsed through the ragged state of their shirts. The picture they painted was that of two aggressive animals acknowledging each other's strength, each of them radiating their own power and form of pride.

How detestable for a mere piece of scum to wrest his prey's attention away from him. He was the only predator who should be drawing that bestial glory out of that perfectly chiseled form. Ulquiorra swiftly focused his gaze on the wall just beyond the two fighters' heads, unsettled by how simple it was for anger to seethe in his eyes when he looked at the man Zaraki occupying Grimmjow's gaze.

Had it always been so easy for him to be angered when he was not the only focus of his target's attention? He couldn't remember. And somehow, he knew he didn't want to know the answer to that.

A small pink blur shot through the crowd and leaped onto Zaraki's shoulder, and an ecstatic "Ken-chan!" was shrieked out. Ignoring the tiny hands roughly tugging on his spiky hair and the incredulous looks on some people's faces, the giant man gave a careless wave that was returned by the blunette before he turned and began lumbering off, his young charge -he couldn't quite get himself to believe the ball of... bubbly pink energy was legitimately related to such a beastly man- dangling off his back and humming something terribly off tune.

Grimmjow spat out a bit of blood onto the ground before he stretched his sore muscles and pushed through the clawing crowd to where Ulquiorra and Shiro were. Up to that point, Ulquiorra had been only vaguely aware of the albino beside him however once he was no longer completely absorbed by Grimmjow, he realized golden orbs had been staring at him intently with a thoughtful look.

Ignoring the wary glance directed back at him, Shiro tossed Ulquiorra a mischievous smirk, something that simply screamed he intended to do something very unpleasant, before the albino pushed away from the wall and slowly sauntered confidently forward to meet the blue-haired fighter.

Placing a slim white hand with painted black nails on a firm chiseled chest, Shiro melded his body to the front of Grimmjow's, his other hand sliding up to lightly caress his slowly bruising cheek as he purred, "Poor Grimmy~ Did kitty get beat up by th' big bad wolf?" Annoyed azure glared down into mocking gold as Grimmjow snapped, "Put a sock in it Shiro. Bastard just got a li'l lucky. I'll kick his ass next time." He seemed utterly unaffected by the albino's intimate touch which garnered more than a few ogles and sour looks from the spectators.

For Ulquiorra, he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. It was like that peculiar consuming burning rage he had felt when he had first seen Grimmjow with the other twin only it seemed to have escalated in strength. It was suffocating, unfounded, and entirely incomprehensible and should thus be removed from his system at once.

And yet, when that snowy head turned to glance at him -a smirk visible for a brief moment- and then those same smirking lips pressed against Grimmjow's amidst the curses and cat-calling from the crowd of trash, all Ulquiorra could register was an intense blaze of anger.

No not anger.

Rage.

It was only due to his incapacity to act upon his emotions and his many years of keeping his self-control under tight reign that he did not shoot the albino full of holes. Never had he wanted to kill someone as unreasonably much as he did now and it was frightening how strong his internal response was to what was in perfect honesty an insignificant gesture. He was only marginally mollified when Grimmjow scowled and shoved Shiro away.

"Don't do that when ya just had a smoke Shi. Ya know I hate the fuckin' taste."

Shiro's sly smirk only grew as he teased playfully, "O' course. Kitty only likes sweet things ne?"

Gold briefly met his gaze once more and Ulquiorra felt as though there was some sort of hidden message he was supposed to be receiving. A warning perhaps disguised in the form of a simple hard truth.

A slight pain stung his chest and bewildered, Ulquiorra looked down to see if he had been struck by something somehow. He saw no indications of an injury but the faint sensation of pain lingered. What had happened? Mere words could not possibly harm him. He had never heard of such a thing and he was a master of inflicting pain and he had long since steeled himself to any degrading words.

He didn't know what to do. It wasn't as though the pain was life-threatening but it was worrisome that he could not pinpoint the source of it. All he knew was that thinking of the blunette and the words Shiro had spoken displeased him in some inexplicable manner.

He would soon learn, through various people, that such a pain was special and that it happened when one's feelings were -intentionally or not- negatively impacted by the words or actions of a desired person or someone close to that person. He would even learn that it had its own particular name: heartache.

* * *

Grimmjow sort of registered the white leech clinging onto him but his attention was more focused on the emerald-eyed figure standing just outside the crowd of seriously-pissing-him-off-people surrounding him who had the strangest expression he had ever seen.

Well, okay. To be fair, he could only just barely discern a retardedly small furrow of thin black eyebrows and the slightest glimpse of an unidentifiable emotion in those ridiculously pretty green orbs but still. Grimmjow's instinct screamed that the guy was weirder than usual and he'd be damned if there ever came the day he decided to ignore his gut.

"Worried 'bout ghosty?"

The lilted watery tone of his friend's voice made him glance down. Blue orbs narrowed at the mischief reflected in a cheshire cat-like grin as Grimmjow snarled, "Alright, what'd ya do to piss 'im off?" Shiro cackled, one of his creepy ones that sent shivers down anyone's spine who wasn't used to it before gleeful gold dipped in obsidian black met his gaze squarely again.

"Testin' 'im is all. An' I say he passed."

Grimmjow made a small face at that. Shiro tended to come up with the strangest albeit effective ways to determine who was a friend or foe. He himself had been forced to endure three months of an inconsistent combination of aggressive and some random provocative gestures from both twins before they had gone through some emotional shit he still didn't understand and now, they were best buddies for fucking life until one of them cracked and went on a homicidal spree which Grimmjow had a feeling was going to be either him or Ichi if the albino ever got his hands on pure black coffee ever again.

Point being, Shiro's 'tests' were a major pain in the ass and the victim or as the albino called it, the 'clueless participant,' was typically left pretty damn pissed or super twisted by the end. He had ended up as both royally peeved and with a corrupt nature courtesy mostly of the damned albino.

Whatever.

At least this meant Shiro was giving Ulqui the okay which meant no more breathing down his neck whenever they were together. Grimmjow certainly couldn't complain. Especially since that meant he could probably spar with the mysterious pale raven-haired male without getting forcibly shipped to the hospital after getting one measly sucker punch from him which he knew the stupid twins weren't above doing. Goddamn he hated it when people interfered with his fights. The only reason Ichigo and Shiro could get away with it was because even if he complained and argued, they'd just kick his ass and make him listen because they could and that just fucking sucked like a mutt that pissed on your shoe.

Stupid strong bastards. Why was the only way he could get them to fight him somewhat seriously was when they treated him like a little kid?

And dammit he knew it wasn't a good idea to stay awake so late last night calculating how much more money they needed before he could get Nel a winter coat since now his brain was now fried like an overstimulated wire and was running on so many different tangents it was giving him a fucking killer migraine as though three bitches were screaming wildly in his head.

Grumbling darkly under his breath, Grimmjow pried Shiro off his front before striding to where Ulqui was. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of uncertainty on said person's face but it was gone faster than he could say "Fuck" and so he chose to assume it was just his overworking imagination going batshit delusional on him.

"Ulqui."

He managed to let a shit-eating smirk grace his face when he saw the irritation that was instantly reflected in emerald pools. He definitely saw that and it was always a blast when he gave people nicknames that they didn't like since they had the same reflex reaction to them. If Ulqui was able to react like normal to his detested name, he was probably more or less fine. Ichigo would kick his ass if he ever heard that was how he diagnosed people but hey, what the doctor to-be didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Rolling his neck tiredly and relishing in the ensuing satisfying crack, Grimmjow glanced around and asked, "Ichi still out?"

Shiro sneered dangerously at people who still hovered nearby, scaring away all the lingering admirers before he spun around to face them with a cheerful expression that managed to look somewhat deranged as he replied, "Yep. He prob'ly needed t' stop by 'Ryuu's place for some dough though." Grimmjow raised an eyebrow and it wasn't at Shiro's weird bipolarness. If Shiro was mentioning his lover's name now, that pretty much cemented some amount of his faith in Ulqui which was definitely surprising.

What had the albino seen from such a short test that made him suddenly take a freaking one-eighty in his opinions of the guy he was ready to kill in any given moment? It had taken him three freaking months of constant tests to get the bastard to trust him and he hadn't done anything more threatening to them their first meeting other than wrestle them into his "house" out of some shitty rain.

Deciding to forget about it since Shiro rarely made any sense and trying to follow his thought process was adding hollering drunk morons to the three bitches still squealing in his head, Grimmjow said in response to what he assumed was an unasked question, "'Ryuu is Shiro's Juliet. What that prick sees in an idiot like Shi, I dunno but they've got some weird-ass chemistry since they've been able to stay together for as long as they have."

Ulqui's expression remained carefully blank though he did nod his head in acknowledgement as Shiro plopped onto the ground to sadistically torture ants that had begun a small parade in front of him. What the albino found so fun about squishing tiny-ass little things like ants, he would never know nor did he really want to. Ulqui was the weirder one in his opinion.

Grimmjow really could not figure out what the sort-of-stranger was thinking half the time and that was partially the reason why he didn't elaborate any more on the matter. The other main reason was because Shiro hadn't given him any indication it was okay to say more. Uryuu's identity was strictly protected, not only for his bodily safety but also for the reputation he had to uphold as a resident of the high-class in the city. Shiro trusted Ulqui to the point of using one of his pet names for his lover but the fact remained that he hadn't used Uryuu's actual name so saying anything else was a big no-no.

If Ulqui was put off by the lack of further information, he was damn good at hiding it like usual. Instead, impassive green -which had been staring intently at him for an unnervingly long time- focused down on the albino, curiosity tinged in his mellow, quiet voice as he said, "Your brother frequently goes into the city."

Shiro blinked blankly as he craned his neck to what had to be an impossible angle to look up at him and then smacked a fist into his palm when he realized what the other was indirectly asking. "Ya really gotta say more ghosty, it's hard t' figure out what yer tryin' t' ask. Yer lucky I'm such a smart dude." Grimmjow snorted. Shiro stuck his tongue out petulantly in retribution before he continued, "But yeah, Ichi's has t' go 'cause he's th' only one who knows what shit we need an' don' even get me started on th' medical crap. Plus he's a pro at dealin' wit' th' government dogs wit'out gettin' his ass hauled to a station. Me an' Grimm don' do so hot when we gotta deal wit' shit all proper-like."

Ulqui nodded slightly before they fell into a half awkward, half comfortable silence. It was leaning more towards uncomfortable if one were to ask Grimmjow and the blunette stirred restlessly, itching to either take a nap or drop by the house of one of his many connections and sleep in their closet for the next few years. He hated having to wait for Ichigo when he was injured and sleep-deprived. He felt more exposed to possible threats and though both Shiro and Ulqui were around, he despised feeling weak and having to rely on others.

Just when he was about to declare he was fine and charge off to do something that was probably going to be stupid and reckless, Shiro abruptly leaped to his feet and tossed a small object in Ulqui's direction, the raven-haired man catching it with reflexes that put many of the slum fighters to shame. Eyeing the roll of bandages, Grimmjow swiveled a piercing glare onto the grinning albino and said venomously, "Shi, what the fuck? If ya had some freaking extras left over, why didn't ya say anythin' you ass, 'stead of playin' with some ants?"

A pale hand waved carelessly in the air. "Don' get yer panties in a knot Grimmy. Ichi tol' me t' use 'em only as a last resort." Blue brows furrowed in mild bafflement. "Is Ichi not comin' or somethin'?" He let a bit of worry seep into his voice though he was fully aware that messing with Ichigo when he had precious newly bought supplies on hand was the same as signing a very painful death wish. Shiro shot him another grin, "He's comin' but I'm bored an' that's a last resort situation in m' humble opinion."

Grimmjow felt tension drain from him though the muscles in his hands twitched, the desire to strangle the annoying albino insanely high as said trolling bastard called lazily, "Yo ghosty, patch whatever ya can wit' those will ya. I ain't good wit' bandagin' an' you look like ya got yerself some steady hands."

Emerald orbs looked down at the bandages before looking up and briefly meeting his azure gaze. He would have laughed at the utter confusion barely apparent on Ulqui's face if he hadn't been so damn pissed. "Oi Shiro, being fuckin' bored doesn't mean shit. Ichi's gonna be pissed if he finds out yer gonna-"

But the white demon was already gone, not a trace of him lingering around aside from the pitiful bodies of squished ants. Grimmjow felt a vein throb in irritation- fast sadistic little fucker sure knew how to make a speedy getaway when he wanted to. Scowling, he turned a bit to face Ulqui again but to his startled surprise, the pale raven-haired man was magically right behind him, his piercing gaze making his skin crawl in a manner that wasn't wholly unpleasant. He swiftly quit that line of thought and focused more on the fact that he hadn't even heard the other move.

"The hell? When'd you get there?"

He was royally peeved when Ulqui ignored him and just began to attempt to tug off the remains of his tattered shirt. Grimmjow could have sworn that one of his brain's circuits or whatever just shorted. Okay seriously, what the fuck? He didn't mind forwardness but considering what an uptight prick Ulqui had been making himself out to be up until now, it was really weird that he would blatantly attempt to strip someone out in the open like this.

"Oi Ulqui the fuck're you doin'?"

Placid emerald scanned his exposed torso as he replied neutrally, "I am heeding that man's request since I do not have any urgent matters to attend to at the moment." Grimmjow spent a very short moment wondering why Ulqui never referred to any of them by their names as deft, leather-gloved hands poked and prodded his body, intelligent eyes seeming to map out each and every location that garnered even the softest hiss from him. Ulqui's gaze flicked back up, snapping him out of his thoughts as he ordered quietly but authoritatively, "Sit. I refuse to assist anyone who is as unsteady as a narcoleptic idiot."

He had no fucking clue what narcoleptic meant but the steady gleam in Ulqui's eyes told him that he could either sit his decidedly tired ass down like a good boy or get dropped onto his ass while bitching about it. Either scenario, he was sitting. His pride balked and snarled at the idea of obeying someone else even if they were stronger than him and he saw the faint tense posture Ulqui's body adopted as his belligerent attitude fought to hold his ground against the smaller man.

He listened to no one but himself.

He didn't need someone else to take care of him.

He didn't-

_Watery aquamarine orbs stared down at him. "Gwimmy... Gwimmy... don- don't weave Nel by herthelf." Little cherub hands touched his bandaged face, large drops of salty water dripping onto his cheek as those same scarily frail hands tugged incessantly on his hair. "Don't weave Nel like momma did... don't hurt yourthelf and weave Nel behind... Gwimmy..."_

_"Nel doethn't want nii-chan to hurt for her thake anymore."_

Resignation washed over him as he grudgingly lowered himself to the ground. Now he remembered why he always waited for Ichigo after a fight. He needed the other to cover up his injuries so that they didn't look as bad as they were. Nel's innocent and naive eyes didn't need to see the scars and bruises marring his flesh again. She didn't need to see the remnants of battles that had been fought to earn money for her sake even after he had promised to stop. So if swallowing his pride was the only thing preventing him from protecting her from seeing his despicable world as much as he could then by all the damnable gods he would smash it into the ground and step all over it.

Nel was more important than pride. Nel would always come before anything and everything else. She always had been and always would be the only thing that absolutely mattered in his shithole of a miserable life besides the twins and maybe a few other people.

He could handle something as little as this.

Ulqui didn't say anything to the abrupt change in attitude towards his order much to his relief. Instead, the pale man knelt down beside him and began accurately prodding the places that had garnered a greater reaction than other minor injuries.

Ulqui may not be quite at the same level as Ichi -who could somehow just look at him and identify all his injured areas which never failed to weird him the fuck out- but he was demonstrating a practiced ease that was definitely not something someone who looked to be around the same relative age as them could get just from school.

So Grimmjow, who spoke native jack-ass and who wanted to take his mind off of the memories of a teary Nel, said bluntly, "Yer weird." Affronted emerald met his gaze and it eased some of his internal turmoil somehow. Anger and irritation he could deal with. They were familiar, normal. And Ulqui's smooth low voice was like a balm to his aching soul or some poetic shit like that.

"Then you are an insufferable fool."

Insults really were the medicine for assholes and douches. He was feeling even better already.

Grimmjow cracked a shit-eating grin- he couldn't really argue since it was true. At least, according to Uryuu it was true. No one else he knew except possibly Ichi would use a stupidly complex word like 'insufferable.'

"... You... are an anomaly yourself."

The quiet statement, spoken just below normal hearing levels, reached his sensitive ears. He had no idea what the fuck an 'anomaly' was so he just asked, "How so?" Once again, that perfect immovable mask reflected nothing though there was a glimmer of surprise peeking out from emerald depths. He had clearly not been expecting Grimmjow to pick up on that last line which he felt he should be at least a bit offended by. He was a delinquent to the core but that didn't mean he was friggin' deaf.

Ulqui traced the borders of an injury, seeming to measure it with some internal ruler -or just stalling for time, he couldn't really tell- before he reluctantly said lowly, "You fail to behave within the scope of my expectations." Grimmjow gave him his best flat look. He reiterated, "You're behavior is unpredictable."

Satisfied that Ulqui had spoken human tongue and not some queen bitch language he couldn't understand, Grimmjow let a weaker-than-usual-but-still-confident smirk slip onto his face as he said, "Ya say that like 's a bad thing." A particularly more forceful pressure was applied to one of his wounds, causing him to wince a bit before he glared darkly at the other who continued his ministrations as though he had done nothing wrong.

"Fucker."

Cool emerald met his gaze as Ulqui retorted stoically, "Spontaneity is useful however if you wear your emotions on your sleeve as you are apt to do, then it is meaningless."

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at the various subtle subtexts in that one short but annoyingly complexly worded sentence he managed to more or less understand. Well holy shit on a rotting stick, sitting through hours of listening to Uryuu rant _did_ come in handy.

"That why you look like a damn robot all the time?"

Ulqui's hands stilled briefly at his question before continuing their task as the paler man murmured, "... Irrelevant." Sounded pretty damn relevant to him but Grimmjow didn't press the matter. Ulqui had held back questions when he had acted strangely so it was only fair he do the same. And dammit he needed to stop spending time with people who had morals. A few years ago and he wouldn't have given two shits about fairness and crap.

They lapsed back into awkwardly companionable silence, Grimmjow chewing on his thoughts and Ulqui... being Ulqui and thinking whatever he was in his overly complex head. In that peaceful silence, he would have almost believed that it was Ichigo and not Ulqui that was beside him because damn the other's seemingly delicate hands were careful and surprisingly gentle. A small smirk twitched the corners of his mouth up as he could just imagine the bristling indignation Ulqui would probably feel at being compared to some slum trash he for some reason frequently visited.

His smirk swiftly disappeared however when slim fingers skimmed his chest for the briefest moment. Shit. He was overly horny after weeks of no sex, he was really un-fucking-believably tired, and his skin fucking _burned_ from the completely innocent touch. It only just occurred to him that Ulqui had moved closer to inspect him better and the proximity of their bodies was making him hot as fuck. The fact he hadn't noticed until now was a pretty bitchy punch to his sex-obsessed ego but he had to focus and get rid of an itty bitty problem. He swiftly brought up in image of some nameless ugly old fart into his head wearing nothing except a bikini and thankfully, that was enough to quell what was working its way to becoming a very interested Grimmjow junior.

Goddamn Shiro. Little fucker knew he liked slim, toned, pretty faces who could pack a punch. And the piece of shit had just dumped one onto him and left them alone like it was no one's business. He was going to wring that pale white neck the next time he caught the slippery bastard.

As he stewed over future gory death plans for Shiro, Grimmjow failed to notice the calculating look simmering in heated emerald.

* * *

It had taken great self-control on Ulquiorra's part not to react when he saw smoldering emotions burning in those wild blue orbs. Grimmjow had looked as if he wanted to fight again except it seemed a bit different than before. More aggressive, more volatile, more... desiring. He had never received such a confusing look before and it was more than just a tad disconcerting.

It had fueled the building fire of _something_ inside him that was threatening to break free from the careful confines of his apathy. He didn't know what it was but it had propelled his fingers to unnecessarily touch, or rather, caress scarred flesh in a manner that was most unbecoming of him. No, even more than that, he had agreed to bandage another's wounds knowing full well such a task required close body quarters.

His eyes widened fractionally, too imperceptible for the distracted blunette to notice as he came to an even far more disconcerting realization. He had been so very close to revealing things about himself, things only Aizen-sama and perhaps Gin-sama were privy to and only because they were already relatively aware of his circumstances. And yet, here he had been mere minutes ago, willingly considering to disclose something as intimate as the reasons for his carefully constructed mask to this insignificant piece of trash who he may or may not kill in the future.

Why?

He valued personal space both mental and physical just beneath his lord and to have voluntarily broken his own set boundary was ludicrously surreal.

And yet, it had happened.

What was he doing?

Was this necessary for his observations?

Was he still doing his job in a professional manner?

He didn't know.

Was this a sign of incompetency on his part?

Was this a psychological trap planned by the blunette?

Or worse, were the walls he had carefully crafted around his emotions more fragile than he had previously assumed since none had ever dared to try to breach them until now?

Ulquiorra facial expression remained carefully blank but his mind was in a whirlwind of chaotic confusion. He did not like this utter lack of control and had he been a lesser person, he would have begun displaying symptoms of hyperventilation. Had he known his regular routine and mannerisms would be so disturbingly disrupted simply by interacting with the blunette, he would have stayed far away and simply continued to observe from a safe distance away.

Were the distractions this man caused him enough to convince his infuriatingly hesitant hand to kill him? His logic incessantly demanded yes however his body refused to acknowledge this decision. Some unreasonable instinct was guiding it to continue to carefully bandage the worst of the street fighter's injuries, using the single roll sparingly but effectively. He had never shown such care when tending injuries, even for himself, and he simply could not discern what this inconceivable man was doing to him.

But when Ulquiorra risked another glance at Grimmjow's face, what he saw made all the noise clamoring in his head fall silent.

It was faint, but there was a very slight hue of red on smooth, prominent cheeks just below averted azure pools that were for some reason fixed to the sidewalk.

Unconsciously, one of Ulquiorra's hand pulled away from the bandaged torso it had been examining. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with it but for some reason, he yearned to touch that dusting of red, to feel the warmth he knew would be there that he had never been able to encounter prior to this very moment.

Unfortunately- no, very fortunately he scolded himself- a familiar curious voice interrupted them.

"What the heck are you two doing outside like this?"

As though they had been in a completely dark room and then the light had abruptly been turned on, the two blinked rapidly before jerking sharply away from each other, creating an exaggeratedly large space between them as Grimmjow said sourly, "The fuck Ichi? Where've you been?"

Thin brow raised appraisingly at the distinct lack of response to his question, Ichigo just shrugged and held up the numerous bags in his hand and replied dryly, "Oh I don't know, buying this week's supply of food and medical shit so a certain somebody doesn't stain the floor with his blood?"

Ulquiorra calmed his slightly racing heart as the two friends slipped into casual bickering, so startled he had been by the interruption to something he felt he had been so close to figuring out. What would he have done if the ginger-haired man hadn't come? Would he have been burned by the warmth emanating from the blunette? Would he have drowned in mesmerizing blue? Would he have lost sight of his purpose of existing?

Did this man who he knew very little about have that strong of a hold over him already?

He was too loyal to his lord and deep down, far too much of a coward to try to answer that.

"-iorra. Ulquiorra!"

The warm, baritone voice so near to him made him look sharply up to where Ichigo's face hovered a close but safe distance away in concern. Chocolate colored eyes glanced from him to the blunette back to him before he finally settled his gaze on Grimmjow and asked, "Where's Shiro?"

Grumbling darkly about the "fucking piece who was so dead when he got his hands on him," Grimmjow said sullenly, "Beats the heck outta me. Just up and ditched us 'cause he got bored the little fucker."

Ulquiorra was not one to believe in the paranormal however he was somewhat inclined to believe Ichigo and Shiro shared some sort of mental connection since several emotions flickered through his warm eyes before he murmured, "Ah, I see." Neither he nor Grimmjow seemed to have received the same message as Ichigo had from that tiny exchange however before he could be questioned, the ginger-haired male faced him again and said, "It's getting kinda late and the area can be a bit nasty once the drunkards start coming out. If you don't mind a bit of a mess, want to spend the night here?"

Grimmjow stared at him with incredulous eyes. Ulquiorra was quite ready to join him. Just yesterday he could recall how wary both twins had been when he and the blunette had stood approximately thirteen and a half inches near each other. And now, not only had one left them together alone while the street fighter had been injured but the other was also offering him to get an even closer glimpse into their personal lives.

What in the world was going on in the minds of these twins?

Ichigo dropped a few bags into the still stunned Grimmjow and said more than asked, "You don't mind do you Grimm?" Oddly enough, Ulquiorra felt somewhat apprehensive as he watched the blunette stare piercingly at the shorter male, as though trying to figure out what he was thinking by simply gazing hard enough, before it disappeared as the fighter grumbled, "Che. Sure, ask the owner of the damn house after ya make the offer."

A hand weighed down by three bags ran through tousled sky-colored locks before Grimmjow shrugged and said, "Whatever. Nel will probably be obsessed with his eyes though."

Nel... the name of the elusive sibling.

He mentally repeated that this was for the sake of obtaining information on a possible exploitable weakness as he wordlessly began following the two fighters. Nothing more, nothing less.

Ulquiorra would never admit that the crack in the stone wall surrounding his heart had just chipped off a little more and that already, it was impossible for him to end the life of the man whose eyes and hair were the color of a freedom he would eventually yearn to have.

* * *

A/N: Good grief I've had so many plot bunnies bouncing around in my head and not enough patience to sit and type them out that this chapter took way longer than I intended it to. So many things I want to happen, I just wish I had six pairs of hands and two heads so one can write and the other can edit DX

Anyway, this is long overdue but thanks to ablueberrynight, Ceilo, awesomehatyougotthere, amariys, junjouLYN, ArtisanDreamCatcher, Moy-kun, Love Psycho, PsychedelicJet64, AureliaVerity, Sychronergy, ShiroMoon, Nazrita, Koriou-Ou, Rawrthedinolycan, and previous reviewers as well as all the wonderful peeps who favorites this for your love~

I will work hard to get the next chapter out... which may not happen for a while since I've been putting off time-consuming junk that will no doubt come back to bite me in the ass -_-;;

Until next time!

~Diamond Snowflake


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